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OK, No Ceilings, motherfucker, good morning Dick in your mouth while you're yawning, I'm going in Gudda, why they started me? Marley, why they started me? I bring it to your front door like you ordered me Back in this bitch, but a lot more rich On my Papa Bear shit, need hot porridge Got a lot more shit than you can ever fathom A big-head nigga couldn’t even imagine The shit I do, most doers never done I'ma fuck this beat, you bitch, ooh, you better cum Bet I run this shit, I don't run from shit I still b—beat your ass like a fucking drumstick Weezy Fucking Baby, baby, make the ladies come quick The money can’t fit in my pockets, but I bet that gun fit And I’m so unfit 'cause all I eat is rappers And these rappers ain't shit, I like my fast food faster Syrup got me slow like a turtle 'round this ho And I'm flyer than the highest-flying bird around this ho What's the word around this ho? You get served around this ho Yeah, you get served like a fucking hors d'œuvre around this ho I don’t splurge around no ho, no, I don’t shine in front of no bitch 'Cause after she get off my dick, I be like "Find the front door, bitch" I don't know why in the fuck your bitch keep coming by I done fucked your bitch a hundred times What the fuck your bitch got on her mind? My fucking dick I call her "dickhead," spicy like a Big Red Letras de cancionesStrike you like a Bic head—your flow sick? My shit dead Sillier than V.I.C. said, Soulja Boy and Arab You should see my eleven-year-old daughter do they dance I call it the Nae-Nae dance, proud to be Nae-Nae’s dad Gun on the waistline, leave you in the wasteland We are not the same, I am a Martian, this is Space Jam No Ceilings, R.I.P., amen Motherfucking caveman, beating on my chest Young Money, Cash Money, and I'm eating all the rest Nigga, no offense, sorry if you're offended Riding high like I'm on 54 inches Man, I'd rather chill with 54 bitches Ch—Chill like— Ch—Chill like an Eskimo L—Let's get more— Let's get more bitches And I be like, "Let's get more bitches" Mr. Officer, stop arresting your bitches Stop letting the messy hoes mess with your business Mickey Mouse cheese, hip-hop Walt Disney Sheesh, gosh, Oshkosh B’gosh Smoking on that Bob Marley, listening to Pete Tosh I—I—I do me; no, I do three At a T... I-M-E Why, when we say we Young Mula The bitches leave y'all and relay-run to us And payday comes sooner than later 'round here And you see my sharks like they got some bait around here Hey, you better stop the hate around there Before Tommy, Mac, and Nina debate around there, yeah You see it in my face, I don’t care Whole court hearing, trial, and the case around there I'm the best thing yet, I know I got that thing wet Everybody wan' be fly but don’t know where their wings at Huh, had to pause for a minute Now, I'm right back in it, like the drawers of the women On a scale of one to ten'n, my girl be a twenty My girl so bad, make a nigga think he sinning My goons so gritty, my goons is so with me Haters gotta go on iTunes to go get me Gators, matadors, baboons, and those grizzlies All come out me when I'm on the micropho-N-E Mic check, two-three; I'mm different like blue pee And my girls be half naked like Betty Boop be Like a hoopty, man, the boy been riding And I ain't gassed up, 'cause I'm more like a hybrid You think I'm stunting, but no, I'm just surviving And I been here, but my soul is just arriving Look up in the air, it's a crow, it's a robin No Ceilings, full dose, I'm prescribing Medication free, and for meditation, we Smoke some better tastin' weed that you’ll ever taste or see S-H-A-R-P as a tack, hotter than Riding through the desert on a camel back, I done been Riding through wherever with the hammer strapped, I ain't lying I can do whatever if I'm planning that So I got my guns, let's dance, like FannyPack And we cook the hard, cut the soft, and bring the whammys back Mafi-o, bitch, where your motherfucking family at? Call my nigga Gudda if you trying to get your mammy back All up in another nigga woman, I be ramming that Seeing through these see-through niggas like they're laminate Hip-hop so contaminate, I swear, just examine it And I'm such a philanthropist, the God to these evangelists I dress so Los Angeles, but I love Miami, though I act so New Orl-e-ans, yes, I go pistachios That means I go nuts on any beat they throw at me And the bitches is so at me, and you know what they throw at me Hahaha! No—No Ceilings From Letras Mania