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Bangladesh | Young Money! | You dig?
Bangladesh Young Money! You dig? Mack, I'm going in A millionaire, I'm a Young Money millionaire Tougher than Nigerian hair My criteria compared to your career just isn't fair I'm a venereal disease, like a menstrual, bleed Through the pencil, I leak on the sheet of the tablet in my mind 'Cause I don't write shit, 'cause I ain't got time 'Cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the almighty dollar And the almighty power of that ch-cha-cha-chopper Sister, brother, son, daughter, father, mother-fuck a copper Got the Maserati dancing on the bridge, pussy poppin' Tell the coppers, ha-ha-ha-ha You can't catch him, you can't stop him I go by them goon rules If you can't beat 'em then you pop 'em You can't man 'em then you mop 'em You can't stand 'em then you drop 'em You pop 'em 'cause we pop 'em like Orville Redenbacher Motherfucker, I'm ill Yeah A million here a million there Sicilian bitch with long hair, with coke in her derriere Like smokin' the thinnest air I open the Lamborghini, hopin' them crackers see me Like, look at that bastard Weezy He's a beast, he's a dog, he's a mothafuckin' problem Okay, you're a goon, but what's a goon to a goblin? Nothin', nothin', you ain't scaring nothin' On some faggot bullshit, call 'em Dennis Rodman Call me what you want, bitch Call me on my Sidekick! Never answer when it's private Damn, I hate a shy bitch Don't you hate a shy bitch? Yeah, I ate a shy bitch She ain't shy no more She changed her name to My Bitch Yeah, nigga, that's my bitch So when she ask for the money when you through Don't be surprised, bitch! It ain't trickin' if you got it But you like a bitch with no ass, you ain't got shit Motherfucker, I'm ill not sick And I'm okay, but my watch sick Yeah, my drop sick Yeah, my Glock sick And my knot thick, I'm it Motherfucker, I'm ill See, they say I'm rappin' like B.I.G., Jay, and 2Pac André 3000, where is Erykah Badu at? Who that? Who that said they gon' beat Lil Wayne? My name ain't Bic, but I keep that flame, man Who that one that do that, boy? You knew that, true that, swallow And I be the shit, now you got loose bowels I don't owe you like two vowels But I would like for you to pay me by the hour And I'd rather be pushin' flowers Than to be in the pen sharin' showers Tony told us this world was ours And the Bible told us every girl was sour Don't play in her garden and don't smell her flower Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower Boy, I got so many bitches, like I'm Mike Lowrey Even Gwen Stefani said she couldn't doubt me Motherfucker, I say, life ain't shit without me Chrome lips pokin' out the coupe, look like it's poutin' I do what I do and you do what you can do about it Bitch, I can turn a crack rock into a mountain, dare me Don't you compare me 'Cause there ain't nobody near me They don't see me but they hear me They don't feel me, but they fear me I'm illy, C3, 3 Peat
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