A Milli (Re-Mastered) Lyrics

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, and 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 dancin' 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

A million here, a million there

Sicilian bitch with long hair, with coke in her derriere

Like smoking 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 scarin' 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!

And 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

--- www.LRCgenerator.com ---