Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Red Carpet (Like a Movie) , by - Wiz Khalifa. Release date: 23.11.2009
Song language: English
Red Carpet (Like a Movie) |
| Yea |
| Gettin more scrill, deal or no deal, uh |
| Yea, Chevy Baggs |
| Heavy hustle, course the gang, uh |
| On, and on, and on, and on, and |
| We just drink and smoke until the morning |
| You’re homegirl’s texting you, ignoring them |
| Hit the weed, giggle a little, then you get horny |
| I hit the weed, get on my mission, and then I’m goin' in |
| Knowin damn well they got boyfriends |
| Til they get the front door, asking which floor I’m on |
| I’m at the top, polo socks and pajamas on |
| She smoke chronic, know the lyrics to all my songs |
| It’s like I died and went to heaven, me and all my dogs |
| That’s why we sip champaign til the bottles gone |
| Roll weed on ya, take the bitches, I don’t follow y’all |
| I can never make up this if I wanted to |
| It’s real talk what I’m saying to you |
| I don’t wanna wake up, knowing just one thought of you |
| Got me fallen I can’t get up (get up) |
| So will you co-star with me? |
| Cuz my life is like a movie |
| Champagne parties in my hotel |
| Her friends don’t even smoke, but they diggin' the smell |
| Ex-boyfriend ringin' ya cell |
| But every effort to save you’s to no avail |
| Nuthin' but starter’s on my team nigga coach Phil |
| And all we do is get high and watch the Adult Swim |
| Relatively fly like a meteor or spaceship |
| Party every night, and early morning get wasted |
| All the way 100 you others niggas are make-shift |
| Roll that rapper weed, you smoke and don’t wanna taste it |
| Lets face it |
| She wanna fly where the planes is |
| Got her testin' out all of my trees, myth blazers |
| Champagne before we hit the papers |
| We stay smokin' that la-la-la |
| Easy rider, joint roller, my 9−5 |
| You can prolly smell it in the car when we ridin' by |
| More like all the way up, we ain’t kinda high |
| We more than fly, introduce you to the gang members |
| That’s taylor, like blood, no gang members |
| No names enter, and now you on champagne land |
| I’m on an island of hard liquor |
| It be fans, joint lit, and guitar pickers |
| Goin' nowhere for awhile, I got good snickers |
| Now you wanna mingle, heard young single |
| Big face chips baby, stack my pringles |
| You call it tight, I say well-fit |
| And we ain’t takin' no prisoners, now you jealous |
| In ya state please make sure the weed great |
| Fresh produce, purple and green crates |
| Groove, crisp bills in my jean pants |
| Telly room prolly doin' the Uncle Snoop dance, yea |