| KE on the Track
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| No Ceilings
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| Ah…
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| O—OK
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| I got this chrome on this Bugatti, I’m strong in this Bugatti
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| Two V8s, ain’t no such thing as driving calm in this Bugatti
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| Bitch, I’m bad, I’m worse, I’ll pass the purp
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| Don’t fuck with me 'cause right now, I’m higher than Captain Kirk
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| I swear, I be the sickest nigga, you can ask the nurse
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| And if you throw it in a bag I bet I’ll snatch her purse
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| OK, I spaz, I curse; |
| you last, I’m first
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| I’m on your ass, like dirt; |
| behind that cash, get murked
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| I’m talking big shit, nigga, join my hit list, nigga
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| What’s the matter? |
| Check your bladder, I’m the shit, piss, nigga
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| Shoot the witness, nigga
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| Hold court in the streets and convict this nigga
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| Ol' dickless nigga
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| Man, I’m running with the blocka, Young Money, motherfucker
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| You think we gon' do our thing? |
| Well, ain’t it sunny in the summer?
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| And we coming for the commas, and whoever among us
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| And you know I’ma bust my ass until my crew very humongous
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| I said, T.I., hold your head, and Mack, hold your head
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| Wish I could but I can’t say some other names 'cause of the Feds
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| And to my Bloods, code red, man, you know how we play it
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| And if it costs to be the boss, oh well, I guess I gotta pay
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| I—I'm a New Orleans nigga, I don’t take no shit
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| Take the brain off the whip; |
| now, it don’t make no sense
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| Stunt hard on these bitches, I ain’t promised tomorrow
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| Now, women kicking it with me like Nomar Garciaparra
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| Fuq' roll them killer plants, the Little Shop of Horror
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| And we roll them bitches thick, make 'em look like Toccara
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| Man, I’m too much for these niggas and three much for these hoes
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| The world is in my hands, and I keep my hands closed
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| I love my baby mamas, they get my highest honor
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| Gotta take care of them kids, man, I know you heard Obama
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| And I live on an island, Atlantic in my backyard
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| I just tell my pilot to land it in my backyard
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| Quarterback, shotgun, you don’t get any sack yards
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| Bitch, I ball hard, breaking all the backboards
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| Pretty Boy Floyd, step up, I will crack yours
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| And even at the White House, we pull up at the back doors
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| Walk around like I’m 30 feet tall
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| Tiger Woods, all these hoes tryna birdie these balls
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| In the Porsche 911, like emergency calls
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| Man, I just be chilling, I’m cool like Lou Rawls
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| Young Money in the building, I’m putting up new walls
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| Nigga take your Mrs. Officer and set some new laws
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| My flow is like rubbing two logs
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| Young Mula, we the new shit, new drawers, ugh
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| Now, get off my dick, I ain’t fucking with you
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| Watch me shoot to the bank, I’m a money pistol
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| Weezy beat the beat up like Sonny Liston
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| Redbone do me good, then her friend assist her
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| I mean, a bitch she never met, her best friend, or sister
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| I leave the pussy micro-soft like Windows Vista
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| Young Tunechi, pop that coochie for a goon, ho
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| Bullet in you boys' memory, now you act like you don’t know
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| Eastside who I do it for, Eagle Street, right by the store
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| Katrina wiped the city out but couldn’t fuck with Hollygrove
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| Lost some real niggas I knew from a long time ago
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| But Heaven or Hell, I’m hoping that they be where I’ma go
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| Take a nigga gal and make her come give me a private show
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| Still «long hair, don’t care» like a Navajo
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| I’m the hardest shit, go in your ass and search
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| I smash this verse, and I swag and surf
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| No Ceilings!
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| Hahahaha! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Surf Swag , by - Lil Wayne. Song from the album No Ceilings, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп