Lyrics Pu$$y - Lupe Fiasco, Billy Blue

Pu$$y

Lord have Murcielagos waiting on the ****a
At the end when the time come
Get the drop on the weed spot
Like there’s too much water in the tea pot, huh
Lord have Murcielagos on the poor, ****a, pour, ****a
They adore the event of war
Down force on the doors of adored ****as
Does the Lord like to thank award winners?
And the war winners’ll rewards inner
Or the all-enders ain’t the pure chemists
So the form in this can be raw in this like the porn business
King to king 'til the, 'til the pawn hit us If he goes, half a million sold, sold the soul, going gold
In the end will it go to the pawn business?
You ain’t doing nothing with it Let a ****a get it for the low-low-low-low
Lames tried to form their brains, couldn’t storm it like a dodo-dodo-dodo-do
In the Philippines eating chicken wings, smothered with adobo-dobo-dobo-do
Vatos, fiascos, votos locos like a cho-lo-lo-lo
Gadget go, go, go, go Ratchet ho, ho, ho, ho Santa ho, ho, ho, ho K-Ci, Jo-Jo-Jo-Jo
Brown skin brother in a fed box at the hell lil' ****a live there for months
Except these young, black males wouldn’t drive if you give them trucks
I don’t give a, give a, give a, fuck
With a, with a, with a mind full of money, pockets full of nothing
Always been a winner ever since beginner
All the way to the end and never ever been a pussy
Pussy ****a, pussy pussy ****a, pussy pussy ****a get fucked
Real ****a, Twitter, what?
Lord, please keep these diablo ****as off a ****a mind
Lord, please keep these diablo ****as off a ****a spine
Lord, please keep me Fiasco outta rest of these ****a lie
These ****a lie, these ****a lie, these ****a lie, these ****a lie
Lord, please forgive me for the sinning
Sinning please forgive me for the snitching to the Lord
Hoping and forbidding to the ribbon ****as wanting to get in, open up the doors
Son wanna feel 'em, open up the ceiling
Trap like Indiana Jones looking for a map
That I sketched on the back on one of my raps under my hat
Coffin is the cousin to the bed that’s under my back
Dream so real ****as die taking one of my naps
Mattress full of money, monster under that sheets full of raps
Comfort for the weak, sleep for the whack
Party while you slumber, tell 'em money coming, jump in my sack
If I lift an arm I’mma lift a car, ****a, that’s a gun in my lap
Hurdle to the tire, chariots of fire
I’m a flyer, take you under my flap
Is he going nuts?
Is he going bolts?
No, going both running my track
I just figure, figure, figure you gon' be a ****a, ****a, ****a, ****a what
And since ****as is faster than them white folks on the tracks
White folks tightrope, like both, I could be a sprintin' ****a
Nik Wallenda, runnin' over rap
I higher, higher wire, you a wire on a power pad running over that
Running over that, running over that, running over that, running over that
Five time winner, five-nine, fine line dinner
Einstein mind, mind bender
Fine dine, nine, wine, find cocaine in my mind
Antenna pussy!