Ignant Shit
[Intro: Drake]Yeah, I appreciate your patience tonightIt's been a moment since I've done some public speakingI find nowadays it's, you know, best to keep quietBut, uh, sometimes you just gotta let it outYoung Angel and Young Lion, you know what it is
[Verse 1: Drake]Look, I'm the property of OctoberI ain't drive here, I got chauffeuredBring me champagne flutes, rosé and some shots overI think better when I'm not soberI smoke goodie, no glaucoma, I'm a stockholderPrivate flights back home, no stop overStill spittin' that shit that they shot Pac overThe shit my mother look shocked overYeah, but with a canvas I'm a group of sevenA migraine, take two ExcedrinI'm the one twice over, I'm the new elevenAnd if I die I'm a do it reppin', I never do a secondI swear niggas be eyeing me all hardAnd lying to they girls and driving the same carsSitting there wishing they problems became ours‘Cause we have nothing in common since I done became starI done became bigger swerving writing in my peer's laneSame dudes that used to holler my engineer's nameOne touch I could make the drapes and the sheers changeAnd show me the city that I without fear claimWhat I set seems to never extinguishCoolest kid out, baby, word to Chuck InglishCount my own money, see the paper cut fingersMy song is your girlfriend's waking-up ringerHeh, or alarm, or whateverShe be here at six in the morn' if I let herBut I never get attracted to fans‘Cause the eager beaver could be the collapse of a damI always knew that I could figureHow to get these label heads to offer him good figuresAnd me doing them showsGetting everyone nervous, ‘cause them hipsters gon' have to get along with them hood niggasIt's all good, I'm going off, like lights when the show's overMake pasta, rent a movie, call hoes overRest in peace to Heath Ledger, but I'm no jokerI'll slow roast ya, got no holsterWet glass on your table, nigga; no coasterBurn bread everyday, boy; no toasterG and Tez got a SIG, but I'm no smokerThey just handin' chips to me, nigga; no pokerI'm with it, Young Money, Cash Money soldierMy cup runneth overThe same niggas I ball with I fall withOn some southern drawl shitRookie of the year, '06 Chris Paul shitD-R., CJ, and Po, I see y'allThese cases don't work out I hope we can agree onMaking enough to pay any Judge Judy offFirst thing I'm a do is free Weezy, go
[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]And I'd take probationI don't want that T.I. and Vick vacationPrivate plane, pick locationI'm going to the bank to make a big donationYeah, I don't stunt, I stunt hardAnd if the food ain't on the stove I hunt for itBut in the meantime you can call me young RoyJones Jr. fighting the drugs and gun chargeShit, don't leave me unguardedAnd I'm a cheese head, word to Vince LombardiWord to Marky Mark, leave a snitch departedAll that blood like the red sea partedMy gun go crazy, like it's retardedRed light on it, like it's recordingI ain't recording, I'm just C-4ingMy currency foreign; we are in a league they aren'tBetter dig in your pocket and pay homageBetter cover your eyes, your face fallin'Watch the game from the side, I'm play callin'No, I didn't say that I'm flawlessBut I damn sure don't tarnishMy pistol got comments for your garmentsI'm so high I can vomit on a cometK-y, no homo, I'm on itWeezy F Baby, new born bitchYou know what they say 'bout when your palm itchI'm going get money, money I'm gon' getYoung Money in your tummy and we gon' shitAnd get that toilet paper quick, like when Bones spitThat's right, bitch, I'm back on my grown shitThat Audemars Piguet, no ice, just chrome shitAnd your boyfriend softer than a foam pitI scream, "Fuck the world with a long dick!"Motherfucker, I'm me! Yeah, bitch, I'm me!You niggas sweet, like the pussy in which I eatFireman burn down your entire streetSo fly I'ma take off when I leapBye! Then you can suck my wingsStand on my money, head butt Yao MingPut your hand in the oven if you touch my thingsI'm shuffling the cards, 'bout to cut my queensBut I ain't the dealerHouse full of bitches, like Tila TequilaYeah, I'm the man in the mirrorMy swagger just screaming, motherfucker, do you hear her?Drizzy Drake what the lick readWe make magic, boy; Roy and Siegfried