Shoes - Lil Wayne

OK, No Ceilings, motherfucker, good morning

Dick in your mouth while you’re yawning, I’m going in

Gudda, why they started me?

Marley, why they started me?

I bring it to your front door like you ordered me

Back in this bitch, but a lot more rich

On my Papa Bear shit, need hot porridge

Got a lot more shit than you can ever fathom

A big-head nigga couldn’t even imagine

The shit I do, most doers never done

I’ma fuck this beat, you bitch, ooh, you better cum

Bet I run this shit, I don’t run from shit

I still b—beat your ass like a fucking drumstick

Weezy Fucking Baby, baby, make the ladies come quick

The money can’t fit in my pockets, but I bet that gun fit

And I’m so unfit 'cause all I eat is rappers

And these rappers ain’t shit, I like my fast food faster

Syrup got me slow like a turtle 'round this ho

And I’m flyer than the highest-flying bird around this ho

What’s the word around this ho?

You get served around this ho

Yeah, you get served like a fucking hors d'œuvre around this ho

I don’t splurge around no ho, no, I don’t shine in front of no bitch

'Cause after she get off my dick, I be like «Find the front door, bitch»

I don’t know why in the fuck your bitch keep coming by

I done fucked your bitch a hundred times

What the fuck your bitch got on her mind?

My fucking dick

I call her «dickhead,» spicy like a Big Red

Strike you like a Bic head—your flow sick?

My shit dead

Sillier than V.I.C.

said, Soulja Boy and Arab

You should see my eleven-year-old daughter do they dance

I call it the Nae-Nae dance, proud to be Nae-Nae's dad

Gun on the waistline, leave you in the wasteland

We are not the same, I am a Martian, this is Space Jam

No Ceilings, R.I.P., amen

Motherfucking caveman, beating on my chest

Young Money, Cash Money, and I’m eating all the rest

Nigga, no offense, sorry if you’re offended

Riding high like I’m on 54 inches

Man, I’d rather chill with 54 bitches

Ch—Chill like— Ch—Chill like an Eskimo

L—Let's get more— Let’s get more bitches

And I be like, «Let's get more bitches»

Mr. Officer, stop arresting your bitches

Stop letting the messy hoes mess with your business

Mickey Mouse cheese, hip-hop Walt Disney

Sheesh, gosh, Oshkosh B’gosh

Smoking on that Bob Marley, listening to Pete Tosh

I—I—I do me;

no, I do three

At a T… I-M-E

Why, when we say we Young Mula

The bitches leave y’all and relay-run to us

And payday comes sooner than later 'round here

And you see my sharks like they got some bait around here

Hey, you better stop the hate around there

Before Tommy, Mac, and Nina debate around there, yeah

You see it in my face, I don’t care

Whole court hearing, trial, and the case around there

I’m the best thing yet, I know I got that thing wet

Everybody wan' be fly but don’t know where their wings at

Huh, had to pause for a minute

Now, I’m right back in it, like the drawers of the women

On a scale of one to ten’n, my girl be a twenty

My girl so bad, make a nigga think he sinning

My goons so gritty, my goons is so with me

Haters gotta go on iTunes to go get me

Gators, matadors, baboons, and those grizzlies

All come out me when I’m on the micropho-N-E

Mic check, two-three;

I’m different like blue pee

And my girls be half naked like Betty Boop be

Like a hoopty, man, the boy been riding

And I ain’t gassed up, 'cause I’m more like a hybrid

You think I’m stunting, but no, I’m just surviving

And I been here, but my soul is just arriving

Look up in the air, it’s a crow, it’s a robin

No Ceilings, full dose, I’m prescribing

Medication free, and for meditation, we

Smoke some better tastin' weed that you’ll ever taste or see

S-H-A-R-P as a tack, hotter than

Riding through the desert on a camel back, I done been

Riding through wherever with the hammer strapped, I ain’t lying

I can do whatever if I’m planning that

So I got my guns, let’s dance, like FannyPack

And we cook the hard, cut the soft, and bring the whammys back

Mafio, bitch, where your motherfucking family at?

Call my nigga Gudda if you trying to get your mammy back

All up in another nigga woman, I be ramming that

Seeing through these see-through niggas like they’re laminate

Hip-hop so contaminate, I swear, just examine it

And I’m such a philanthropist, the God to these evangelists

I dress so Los Angeles, but I love Miami, though

I act so New Orl-e-ans, yes, I go pistachios

That means I go nuts on any beat they throw at me

And the bitches is so at me, and you know what they throw at me

Hahaha!

No—No Ceilings