Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Scottie , by - Lil Wayne. Song from the album Tha Carter V, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 24.09.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Young Money
Song language: English
Scottie |
| It’s so simple that it’s complicated, uh |
| You think about mistakes, that’s when you made 'em, yeah |
| The water’s runnin', baby, I ain’t chasin' |
| 'Cause only in still water we can see our faces |
| Real shit, I told my nigga |
| «Boy, you better watch them hoes when you sleepin' |
| Nigga, them dog ass hoes be creepin'» |
| I got a few Ms put up for safe keeping |
| Long hair, don’t care like I was raised in a tipi |
| Nigga, gun hurt, Nina said she 'bout to go streaking |
| Niggas 'bout to go to missin', niggas 'bout to go to deacons |
| Niggas 'bout to get high as airmen from Tuskegee |
| Niggas blind to the fact 'cause they don’t wan' see me |
| Niggas don’t wan' talk, niggas don’t wan' reason |
| Niggas don’t want peace, niggas don’t know the meaning |
| Nigga said «You're a bitch, nigga», bitch European |
| Nigga we Herculean, nigga, skate service skiing |
| Nigga really overseeing, y’all niggas sight seeing |
| Tomorrow is what a nigga ain’t guaranteeing |
| New Orleans had a sheriff by the name of Harry Lee |
| When he died, niggas shouted out, «Tha-thank you, Jesus» |
| Cruising down the street and I ain’t Caribbean |
| Ain’t terrified and I ain’t never been |
| Sippin' H-Town, lookin' like Jeremy Lin |
| I’m movin' slower than a fuckin' Maryland terrapin |
| I ain’t got time, patience very thin |
| I will fuck a nigga bride on the day she marry him |
| I’m a bad samaritan, I’m a black American |
| Got white like a fuckin' Aryan, and |
| I don’t need no pot to piss in, I just need a pot to whip it |
| I don’t need no fuckin' help, I don’t need no Scottie Pippen |
| I don’t need a lot of niggas, I just need a chopper, nigga |
| Grave yard or penitentiary, I keep runnin' out of niggas |
| I ain’t runnin' out on niggas, no |
| Now beam me up, Scotty |
| You gon' find your mommy chopped up in a tub |
| With «Stop snitchin» written on a note by her body |
| I picked up your ho and she wore something tiny |
| I wore something simple, she like that about me |
| My dope from the nineties, my dope ain’t consignment |
| My coke ain’t that diet, I hope you a client |
| These hoes be relying, these niggas be lying |
| These niggas who snitching we throw to the lions |
| Ain’t no testifying, you know that’s as quiet |
| So scream until you give your throat laryngitis, we so terrorizing |
| You caught up too much, you choose hoes to confide in |
| I know where you hide and that ho verified it |
| I told my homie, «I know where to find him» |
| He said, «You late, we already got him |
| And by the way, it was an honor» |
| That made my day, made me so proud |
| I bought my bitch some shit from her favorite designer |
| And a chihuahua |
| What’s the occasion? |
| Don’t worry about it |
| I don’t fuck with snakes except Kobe, the Mamba |
| Might cut off my hair 'cause these hoes is Delilah’s |
| Let me check my wallet, my pulse and my vitals |
| Call me the greatest or call me retired |
| It’s up in the air, like carbon monoxide |
| Bitch, we in the building, we started from outside |
| My dick is my third eye and she call it cock eyed |
| My bath tub lift up, my walls do a 360 |
| She get so wet, it gave me sea sickening |
| Niggas expect some sort of leniency |
| I’m in high def, but why are you screening me? |
| I’m Weezy F-U, with a sick dick |
| Hop on my skateboard, do a quick trick |
| Playin' my role, even with a thick script |
| Waitin' on a revolution, hope I get a big tip |
| Smoking on Cee-Lo Green, lighting up a big gift |
| Every bud get nipped, life is so vibrant and the suns just trip |
| Anything can happen, put the «Whats» with the «Ifs» |
| But what’s with the ifs? |
| Just pass that weed like flying colors |
| Light green teal turquoise, purple |
| When I’m in a room, if these walls could talk |
| I’m sure they’d prefer to be non-verbal |
| Poppa was a rolling stone, worthless |
| Momma said I wasn’t on purpose |
| That’s why I got a ice box where my heart used to be in this cold world |
| I’m a monster, a cold blooded monster |
| I’m colder than fuckin' Moscow, kilos, ounces, Grammies, Oscars |
| Knock you off your fuckin' high horse |
| Like a cold blooded jouster, fighting for my life |
| Praying to the ring-side announcer |
| It’s so simple that it’s complicated, yeah |
| You think about mistakes, that’s when you made 'em, yeah |
| The water’s runnin', baby, I ain’t chasin' |
| 'Cause only in still water we can see our faces |
| Real shit, tell 'em |
| I don’t need no pot to piss in, I just need a pot to whip it |
| I don’t need no fuckin' help, I don’t need no Scottie Pippen |
| I don’t need a lot of niggas, I just need a chopper, nigga |
| Grave yard or penitentiary, I keep runnin' out of niggas |
| I ain’t runnin' out on niggas, no |
| I ain’t runnin' out on niggas, no |
| I don’t need a lot of niggas, I just need a chopper with me |
| Grave yard, a penitentiary, I keep runnin' out of niggas |
| I ain’t runnin' out on niggas, no |
| Now beam me up, Scotty |