Gudda Gudda - I Don\'t Like The Look (Willy Wonka) lyrics

rate me

Ok I'm sippin on the syrup

Got a n-gga moving slow

I'm all about the money

What the f-ck you think I do it for

B-tch don't act like you don't know

I'm killing all these rap n-ggas

Custom made caskets for you muthaf-cka funerals

Keep the women with me

Sh-t I gotta keep like two or more

Party everyday like we won the f-cking Superbowl

Chillin with my n-gga Mack, he keep b-tches handy

White girl on the table love them sniff nose candy

When I'm walking by the women say " Who is that n-gga? "

I replied "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda that n-gga"

I was raised in the home of da Cap Splitters

Whip on 24's watch it crawl like a caterpillar

I come with a toy boy like a Happy Meal

And yous a muthaf-ckin' duck, Daffy Dill

I'm from the school of Hard Knocks, where we scrap and kill

Pick the knife or gunner, you can get the package deal

I'm hot n-gga, burning everything around me

I was lost for a minute took a while but I found me

The streets say I'm King but the game will never crown me

Realist n-gga doin it just ask the n-ggas around me

So you can't size me up or try to clown uh

Shark in the water jump in and I'm a drown ya

New Orleans n-gga, Gun out, I'm a down ya

Put n-ggas to sleep like a muthaf-ckin' downer

I'm a Great White, yous a flounder

Fish and a b-tch I tuna eveything around ya

U-Haul Gudda, moving everything around ya

It's Young Money Bitch

At the top is where they found us

Uhh, Goons on deck

Marley don't shoot em'

Silence on the gun

Watch a n-gga mute em'

The coach in the booth

Call me Jon Gruden

School these n-ggas, they all my students

All jokes aside, I ain't playin' with cha

The weed broke down, like a transmission

Tha choppa spin him round, like a ballerina

B-tch I'm still spittin like I ate a Jalapeno

I'm from uptown, my bitch from Argentina

My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena

Stunt so hard, it's all y'all fault

And when it come to beef give me A1 Sauce

I ain't worryin bout sh-t, Everything paid out

You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade's house

With a high yellow thick b-tch with her legs out

Cash Money president but we in a red house

Who the f-ck want it? Make my f-ckin' day

I blow your candles out, now n-gga cut that cake

I gotta eat bitches, like a run-away

Y'all n-ggas ain't eatin, stomach ache

Ok, all these b-tches, And n-ggas still hatin

I used to be ballin', But now I'm Bill Gate'n

F-ckin with my iPhone, bumpin Illmatic

I'm on the road to riches, there's just a lil traffic

Hair still platted, thuggin is a habbit

Keep my guitar, Hip-Hop Lenny Kravitz

Bunch of bad b-tches and I f-ck em like rabbits

Dope d-ck Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, Uhh