lirik lagu lil wayne - in a cell
[intro]
cut the music up please
man
[verse 1]
i’m so f-cked up, you have no idea
i smoke that la la la, it’s music to my ears
all my n-ggas is wasted, got guns on they waist
she don’t use pro-active, she put c-m on her face
i’m a real n-gga first, i’m a b-tch n-gga never
shawty suck me dry, i’m talkin’ dry like a dessert
n-gga get off my d-ck, b-tch, get on my level
i don’t gas these hoes, take your foot off the pedal
man, i be on my d-ck, ’bout to break my neck
shout nyjah huston, stevie will, ryan sheck’
papa got the tec, it can get technical
pimp sh-t, never, put the p-ssy on a pedestal
n-ggas out of shape, i’m just bein’ geometrical
tunechi, leave ’em b-tches behind like residue
new orleans, where we turn a funeral into a festival
young money, long money, it ain’t even measurable
i’m stuntin’, uh, like my daddy
she give me neck, uh, peyton manning
yeah, i press a b-tton, uh, and lose my roof
i’m spittin’ blood sh-t like i lost a tooth, uh
[chorus]
i went from sittin’ in a cell
to sittin’ on a jet
from sh-ttin’ in a cell
to sh-ttin’ on a jet
i made too much money, i ain’t make enough yet
so i scratch, and yes, junior is the best
[verse 2]
man, all these b-tches and n-ggas still hatin’
my homies got that weight and i ain’t talkin’ ’bout patience
man, we be on some other sh-t, kidnap your mother sh-t
and we smoke that strong like the weed got muscles, b-tch
i’m tunechi, got what you need
i got some cocaine and some california weed
them b-tches jockin’, n-ggas hatin’, drunk off gin and socko
if he keep on talkin’ sh-t, i’ll knock the meat out his taco
and i ain’t playin’, i got k!llers with me, ain’t got no squealers with me
and the back of the milk carton say my ceiling’s missing
and now my vision blurry and i’m with kissin’ cousins
i’ll make ’em rob you masked up, you think them b-tches muslims
scoob filmin’ it, smooth criminal
i’ma prince, n-gga, you -rs-nio
we pick you off and bounce, that’s the pick and roll
crème de la crème, de la crème [?]
t, where you at? make the blunt fat
young money that special team, run the punt back
yeah, that’s me in that ‘gatti with the hump back
i’ll stick my thumb in her p-ssy with a thumbtack
[chorus]
sittin’ in a cell (woah)
to sittin’ on a jet
from sh-ttin’ in a cell
to sh-ttin’ on a jet
i lost too many homies and i won too many bets
so i scratch, and yes, junior is the best, uh-huh
[outro]
uh-huh
uh-huh
uh-huh
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