Lil' Wayne - Grove Street Party lyrics

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<strong>Grove Street Party Lyrics</strong>

[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]

I got a whole lot of money, pop that pussy for me

My homie got that yopper, he’ll bang it at a copper

Gangsta party, gangsta party, gangsta party!

Stove on my waist, cook your ass up gourmet

All-black 44, do you want foreplay?

I’m going at your face like Oil of Olay

No champagne, but you know my flag Rose

Swagger on steroids: Canseco, Jose

No Limit Records: We so ’bout it ’bout it

I’m higher than a bitch, feel like a climbed a fucking mountain

Illest nigga you know, my accountants still counting

Shot hit him a minute ago but his body’s still bouncing

Beam on the hammer, beam on your forehead

Gotta kill the witnesses cause Birdman car red

Hollygrove Monster, Eagle Street preacher

Come to your funeral, kill everybody but the preacher

I live in Miami nigga, I’ll South Beach ya

Robin Leach, uh, that’s how we ballin

You know that I’m loaded but please don’t think its sweeter

Beat one of you bitch niggas up like John Cena

Them hoes on Young Money, tell them hoes we coming

Before we get it popping, we ain’t saving hoes, we swapping

Yeah, gangsta party, gangsta party, gangsta party!

Big head Desert Eagle, call it “shotty”

How’d you get that money? Stunna taught me that

That Zan took me under, patron brought me back

I’m leaning on you muthafuckers like I caught a flat

And that Glock snap back like a old Starter hat

What the lick read? I’m in the big league

I’m a breath of fresh air “Let the bitch breathe!”

I’m trying to chillax but I had to do it, dev

I’m at the funeral like “I had to do it, rev!”

Mack you my big brother, I split a wig for you

Put that on repeat until they bury me

Moment of clarity: yeah, that’s my diamond game

I keep a fine bitch cause I like the finer things

Fuck with me slime, no brain on the whip

I’ve got nothing in mind

Call the 4, they ain’t fucking with mine

I drop that Sorry 4 the Wait to make up for the time

[Verse 2: Lil B]

Yeah I do my thang, bitch what’s up?

Young Based God, came in with the ballers

Iced out chain, bitch, I’m rich off that same shit

See 5 hoes on my dick, bitch, it’s Christmas

Straight Westside, Bay Area bitch, I’ll graze em

Pretty boy shit, Based God from the Angeles

On like a cradle and you niggas can’t stop me

Shouts out to Mack Maine getting rich incoggy

Bitch it’s still West side, shouts out to Weezy

Young Based God with that 55 heater

187 bitch, I put it to 11 bitch

With that tiny shirt mane and the tiny pants mane

I’m on Based World and I fuck with, Cash Money my nigga

Don’t understand man the game like a chain

Woo woo! Swag, bitch, Brang-dang-dang-dang

Off the top, I’m a Wolfpack hitter

Man, my life just a painting and I paint you a picture, mane

Think about it: a young paid-ass nigga

This that stuntin’ music; bitch, I just do’s it

It’s Lil B and I’ll muthafuckin prove it