That's All I Have

[Intro: Lil Wayne] Nigga ain't let me catch my breath Nah, you heard me? [Verse 1: Tyga] Ahhh! Peek-a-boo, bitch! (Yeah) Swag scare your kids (Huh?) My airplane clothes flyer than your bestest shit (Really) Gorillas in the mist, pro-Black: pump they fist I'm from the Planet of the Apes, King Kong clips (Blah) Silence lambs, bitch (Yes), run through your land tripping (Hahaha) Can't pretend when this is real as it gets, can you? (No) If shit hits the fan, I Ron Artest niggas (Ha) This how I'm living, getting tatted in some house slippers (Ah) I like my bitches simple: lay back, relax your mental (Bitch) Shit, you know what I do; now, tell me what you tryna get into The man car's rented (Right), the man car killing (Yes) Gossiping? Man, fuck the car! Look at the man in it, ha! Ha! Boys-to-man business (Yes), we don't hire bitches (No) Just fire bitches: Young Money fire-spitters (Ahhh) Them red ants is with us (Haha), and they ain't ate they dinner (No) Begin the feast; feet lying, fatality finish I'm killin these records, they put me in Guinness I really don't give a f-fuck if you witness You hear it, listen, buy it, steal it I'm still gonna get my fucking percentage I cuss a lot 'cause, bitch, I'm serious, Young No-Beard Get soup, like gumbo with shrimp Flyer than Dumbo ears is, bitch [Break: Lil Wayne] Now, my dog, T, was just rocking, you heard me? Hit the weed, T! You heard me? [Verse 2: Lil Wayne] Ugh! now let me start by sayin' I don't like this beat But I weather the storm, I'm a lightning streak, ugh Weezy F. Baby, I do it big—weigh me Them crazy freaky bitches tryna Cirque du Soleil me Got some new bitches, Trel got em' laughin' The one that gave me head could suck the nail out a casket Shotgun on the kitchen table, bullet shells in the cabinet Fucking with me is like stepping on the tail of a dragon Wet pussy is my cabin, more bitches than a pageant I keep a house full, nigga—call me Bob Saget Spending time backwards, hotter than a cactus And we ain't in the building—we the fucking contractors Y—YM, motherfucker, why hate it? Young Money down your throat, you gotta stay hydrated Quarterback Weezy, young Tom Brady Open up your mouth, and catch a bomb, baby, haha! Good morning, dude, Eagle-Street-Corner Tune Long dough, no shortbread, no Lorna Doone I'm warnin' you: We on the move Bunch of female dogs and garden tools That's bitches and hoes, hospital full, sick of my flow Hi—Hip-hop was washed up So I brought some change to finish my load I load millions and more millions Money to the ceilings? Nigga, No Ceilings! I'm out! [Verse 3: Shanell] Step up in this bitch, five o'clock in the morning The world is waking up, you can hear the pigeons yawning I'ma get that worm now; tell 'em it's my turn now Y'all niggas need a lesson, on some ethic—you gon' learn now I do this for the love of it; saliva, 'cause I love to spit And I juke it; for my future records y'all gon' love to spin Fucking with my bred'ren, 10 years strong And he put them dreads in: Silver, John Long But he's more like platinum; hold up, here's a napkin Pick your jaw up off the floor, and tuck your tongue right back in Tell me, where is Mack Maine? [Outro: Shanell] That's all I have!