Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ignant Shit, artist - Drake. Date of issue: 14.02.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Ignant Shit |
| Yeah, I appreciate ya patience tonight |
| It’s been a moment since I’ve done some public speaking |
| I find nowadays it’s just best to keep quiet |
| But, uh, sometimes you just gotta let it out |
| Young angel and young lion |
| You know what it is, uh |
| Look, I’m the property of October |
| I ain’t drive here I got chauffeured |
| Bring me champagne flutes, |
| Rose and some shots over |
| I think better when I’m not sober |
| I smoke good ain’t no glaucoma |
| I’m a stockholder, |
| Private flights back home no stop over |
| Still spittin that shit that they shot pac over |
| The shit my mother look shocked over |
| Yeah, but with a canvas I’m a group of seven |
| A migraine, take two Excedrin |
| I’m the one twice over I’m the new eleven |
| And if I die I’m a do it reppin, I never do a second |
| I swear niggas be eyeing me all hard |
| And lying to they girls and driving the same cars |
| Sittin there wishing they problems became ours |
| Cause we have nothing in common |
| Since I done became star |
| I done became bigger swerving right in my peer’s lane |
| Same dudes that used to holla my engineer’s name |
| One touch I could make the drapes and the sheers change |
| An show me the city that I without fear claim |
| What I set seems to never extinguish |
| Coolest kid out baby word to Chuck English |
| Count my own money see the paper cut fingers |
| My song is ya girlfriend’s waking up ringer |
| Heh, or alarm, or whatever |
| She be here at six in the morn if I let her |
| But I never get attracted to fans |
| Cause the eager beaver could be the collapse of a dam |
| I always knew that I could figga |
| How to get these label heads to offer 'em good figures |
| And me doing them shows gettin everyone nervous cause |
| Them hipsters gonna have to get alone with them hood niggas |
| It’s all good I’m going off like lights when the show’s over |
| Make pasta rent a movie called hoes over |
| Rest in peace to heath ledger but I’m no joker |
| I’ll slow roast ya, got no holster |
| Wet glass on ya table nigga no coaster |
| Burn bread everyday boy no toaster |
| G and tez got a cig but I’m no smoker |
| They just handing chips to me nigga no poker |
| I’m with it, young money, cash money soldier |
| My cup runneth over, |
| The same niggas I ball with, I fall with |
| On some southern drawl shit |
| Rookie of the year, '06 Chris Paul shit |
| D.r., c. |
| j, an po' I see y’all |
| These cases don’t workout I hope we can agree on |
| Making enough to pay any judge Judy off |
| First thing I’m a do is free weezy, go |
| And I take probation |
| I don’t want that t.I. |
| and Vick vacation |
| Private plane, big location |
| Going to the bank to make a big donation |
| Yeah, I don’t stunt, I stunt hard |
| And if the food ain’t on the stove I hunt for it |
| But in the meantime you can call me young Roy |
| Jones junior fighting the drugs and gun charge |
| Shit, don’t leave me un-guarded |
| And I’m a cheese head word to Vince Lombardi |
| Word to marky mark leave a snitch departed |
| All that blood like the red sea parted |
| My gun go crazy like it’s retarded |
| Red light on it like it’s recording |
| I ain’t recording I’m just C-4'in |
| My currency foreign |
| We are in a league they aren’t |
| Better dig in ya pocket an pay homage |
| Better cover ya eyes ya face falling |
| Watch the game from the side I’m play calling |
| No I didn’t say that I’m flawless |
| But I, damn sure don’t tarnish |
| My pistol got comments for ya garments |
| I’m so high I can vomit on a comet |
| K-y no homo I’m on it |
| Weezy f baby new born bitch |
| You know what they say bout when ya palm itch |
| I’m gonna get money money I’m gonna get |
| Young money in ya tummy and we gonna shit |
| An get that toilet paper quick like when bone spit |
| That’s right bitch I’m back on my grown shit |
| That oughta Marvin Gaye no ice just chrome shit |
| And ya boyfriend softer than a foam pit |
| I scream fuck the world with a long dick |
| Motherfucker I’m me, yeah bitch I’m me |
| You niggas sweet like the pussy in which I eat |
| Fireman burn down ya entire street |
| So fly I’m a take off when I leap, bye |
| And you can suck my wings |
| Stand on my money headbutt yao Ming |
| Put your hand in the oven if ya touch my things |
| I’m shuffling the cards bout to cut my queens |
| But I ain’t the dealer |
| House full of bitches like tila tequila |
| Yeah, I’m the man in the mirror |
| My swagger just screaming motherfucker do you hear her |
| Drizzy drake what the lick read |
| We make magic boy Roy and Sigfried |
| Who! |
| young mullah baby, yeah |