Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Glory, artist - Lil Wayne. Album song FWA, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.07.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Young Money
Song language: English
Glory |
Woo, this that shit they didn’t want me on |
I’m 'bout to act a badonkadonk, shamone, shamone |
Don’t need sugar, I need cream, I’m dark and strong |
The garbage man puttin' on cologne, aroma wrong |
I’m on, I’m on, this that shit they didn’t want |
I act a ass and shit a skunk, I will, I won’t |
Black your eye like will.i.am, you Willy Wonka |
That’s me in the Lamb', I’m disappearin' like Jimmy Hoffa |
AK-47 my business partner, business is swell |
French kiss a bitch, she don’t speak French, can’t kiss and tell |
I push his ass in a wishin' well, then wish him well |
Sippin' syrup like ginger ale, but I’m the quickest snail |
From here to Hell, I hear them hail, I give them hell |
I’m spittin' hail, I’m Clinton, well, I did inhale |
These niggas frail, they Chip and Dale, they little gals |
Watch me act a donkey, then pin a tail, spit out your nails |
Uh, glory, hallelujah |
Holy shit, I’m the holy shit, I’m God’s manure |
I know how to hack a jeweler ward and not computers |
I meditate like a Buddhist, holy ramen noodles |
And now you sleep, I’m inside your room wit' a lot of shooters |
You wake up to this chopper tool, it’s like, «cock-a-doodle» |
I’m awkward, cuckoo, I turn your Froot Loop to chocolate Yoo-Hoo |
I’m hotter than Honolulu, glory unto you (Glory) |
Glory |
I’m awkward, cuckoo, I turn your Froot Loop to chocolate Yoo-Hoo |
I’m hotter than Honolulu, my clothes and socks and shoes new |
I been a boo-boo since ga-ga goo-goo and Dada, FUBU |
Make everybody that knew you boo-hoo, I got them spooked too |
I drive in neutral, shock the future like Dr. Luther |
I’m not a chooser, your mom a cougar, I’ll sock it to her |
My cocaine white as a white beluga, I like bazookas |
I’m high as lunar, I’m wilder than tigers, Nikes, Pumas |
Woo, this that shit you didn’t want me on |
My weed louder than underarms and car alarms |
Cheers, I said, «Surprise,» but couldn’t party long |
I got to get back to the grind and the drawin' board |
But all this fuckin' artist drawin' is the art of war |
These niggas soft as teddy bears, talk to Marky Mark |
I wet your block, leave it a waterpark, broad or dark |
I whip the work like tartar sauce, you want it hard or raw, huh? |
Uh, glory, hallelujah |
Holy shit, I’m the shit, Porta-Potty Tunechi |
Unload the Glock profusely when sortin' out confusion |
Your motor mouth keep vroomin', I’m goin' Tony Stewart |
I’m on the fluid, I’m ruined, I’m cold as Boston Bruins |
Lost in the shoo-shoo and who’s who and I lost influence |
Lost my point of view 'til I find a mirror, start talkin' to it |
It told me the truth, it said I’m the shit and you party poopin' |
Lord, oh, Lord |
Am I talkin' crazy? |
Too much coffee maybe |
I smell like money, I know broke niggas feel nauseated |
The broads elated, my boys are faded, my car’s the latest |
My bars the greatest, they rated X like Marvel made it |
She caught the babies, she barfed the babies, they orphans maybe |
We got that white girl like in the '80s, that Marcia Brady |
I dicked Tracy like Warren Beatty, I’m warm as Haiti |
I’m armed and lazy, I’m sprayin' until my arms is lazy |
Pardon my mental, I’m higher than Continental |
Went from flyin' cockroaches to flyin' without credentials |
That’s private, tell the pilot, «Be quiet, we need our privacy» |
Throw you off this bitch if you wired, justifiably |
Hustle wit' a motive, you know this, I’m wit' my whoadies |
No snakes, no rodents, no ad-libs, no chorus |
No stress, no worries, hook you to a respiratory |
It’s self-explanatory, the glory is mandatory, glory |
Uh, glory, hallelujah |
Holy shit, I can’t hold this shit, my bowel’s looser |
My towel’s newer, my powder room is for powder-users |
You see rolled up dollar bills filled wit' snot and mucus |
My tires Lucas, my driver’s cruisin', my partner’s ruthless |
My flower’s rootless, my pocket’s roofless, she poppin' roofies |
I’m not a student, I’m not assumin' I’m not a human |
You are not immune to this kind of music, you got 'em, Tunechi |
You got 'em, Tunechi, I got 'em |
Glory, hallelujah (I got 'em) |
(Glory) |
I got 'em |
(I got 'em) |
I got 'em |