I Don't Like The Look Of It

[Gudda Gudda] Ok Im sippin on the syrup Got a n-gga moving slow I’m all about the money What the f-ck you think I do it for B-tch don’t act like you don’t know I’m killing all these rap n-ggas Custom made caskets for you muthaf-cka funerals Keep the women with me Sh-t I gotta keep like two or more Party everyday like we won the f-cking Superbowl Chillin wit my n-gga Mack, he keep b-tches handy White girl on the table love them sniff nose candy When I’m walking by the women say "Who is that n-gga?" I replied "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda that n-gga" I was raised in the home of da Cap Splitters Whip on 24′s watch it crawl like a caterpillar I come with a toy boy like a Happy Meal And yous a muthaf-ckin’ duck, Daffy Dill I’m from the school of Hard Knocks, where we scrap and kill Pick the knife or gunner, you can get the package deal I’m hot n-gga, burning everything around me I was lost for a minute took a while but I found me The streets say I’m King but the game will never crown me Realist n-gga doin it just ask the n-ggas around me So you cant size me up or try to clown uh Shark in the water jump in and Imma drown ya New Orleans n-gga, Gun out, Imma down ya Put n-ggas to sleep like a muthaf-ckin’ downer Imma Great White, yous a flounder Fish and a b-tch I tuna eveything around ya U-Haul Gudda, moving everything around ya It’s Young Money Bitch At the top is where they found us [Lil Wayne] Uhh, Goons on deck Marley don’t shoot em’ Silence on the gun Watch a n-gga mute em’ The coach in the booth Call me Jon Gruden School these n-ggas, they all my students All jokes aside, I ain’t playin’ wit cha The weed broke down, like a transmission Tha choppa spin him round, like a ballerina B-tch I’m still spittin like I ate a Jalapeño I’m from uptown, my bitch from Argentina My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena Stunt so hard, it’s all y’all fault And when it come to beef give me A1 Sauce I ain’t worryin bout sh-t, Everything paid out You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade’s house Wit a high yellow thick b-tch wit her legs out Cash Money president but we in a red house Who the f-ck want it? Make my f-ckin’ day I blow your candles out, now n-gga cut that cake I gotta eat bitches, like a run-away Y’all n-ggas ain’t eatin, stomach ache Ok, all these b-tches, And n-ggas still hatin I used to be ballin’, But now I’m Bill Gate’n F-ckin with my iPhone, bumpin Illmatic I’m on the road to riches, there’s just a lil traffic Hair still platted, thuggin is a habbit Keep my guitar, Hip-Hop Lenny Kravitz Bunch of bad b-tches and I f-ck em like rabbits Dope d-ck Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, Uhh