Artist: Drake (Feat Lil Wayne)
Mixtape: So Far Gone
Year: 2009
Send "Ignant Shit" Ringtone to your Cell
[Intro – Drake]
Yeah
I appreciate your patience tonight
It’s been a moment since I’ve done some public speaking
I found nowadays it’s, ya know, it’s best to keep quiet
But uh, sometimes you just gotta let it out
Young angel and young lion
You know what it is
Uh, look
[Drake]
I’m the Property of October
I ain’t drive here, I got chauffeured
Bring me champagne flutes, rosé, and some shots over
I think better when I’m not sober
I smoke good, ain’t no glaucoma
I’m a stockholder
Private flights back home; no stop over
Still spitting that shit that they shot ‘Pac over
The shit my mother look shocked over
Yeah, and with a canvas I’m the Group of Seven
A migraine, take two Excedrin
I’m the one twice over, I’m the new eleven
And if I die, I’m a do it reppin’
I never do a second
I swear niggas be eying me all hard
And lying to they girls, and driving the same cars
Sitting there wishing their problems became ours
Cus we have nothing in common since I done became star
I done became big and swerving right into my peer’s lane
Same dudes that used to holla my engineer’s name
One touch, I can make the drapes and the sheers change
And show me the city that I without fear claim
What I said seems to never extinguish
Coolest kid out, baby, word to Chuck Inglish
Count my own money, see the paper cut fingers?
My song is your girlfriend’s waking up ringer
Or alarm, or whatever
She be here at six in the morning if I let her
But I never get attracted to fans
Cus the eager beaver could be the collapser of a dam
Always knew that I could figure
How to get these label heads to offer them good figures
And me doing a show’s getting everyone nervous
Cus them hipsters gonna have to get along with them hood niggas
It’s all good, I’m going off like lights when the show’s over
Make pasta, rent a movie, call hoes over
Rest in peace to Heath Ledger, but I’m no Joker
I’ll slow roast ya, got no holster
Wet glass on ya table nigga, no coaster
Burn bread every day, boy no toaster
Giantess got a cig, but I’m no smoker
They just handed chips to me, nigga, no poker
I’m with a Young Money, Cash Money soldier
My cup runneth over
The same niggas I ball with, I fall with
On some Southern drawl shit
Rookie of the year, ’06, Chris Paul shit
D.R., C.J., and Po’, I see y’all
These cases don’t work out, I hope we can agree on
Making enough to pay any Judge Judy off
First thing I’m a do is free Weezy
Go
[Lil Wayne]
And I take probation
I don’t want that T.I. and Vick vacation
Private plane, pick location
I’m going to the bank to make a big donation
Yeah, I don’t stunt, I stunt it hard
And if the food ain’t on the stove I hunt for it
But in the meantime you can call me young Roy…
Jones, Jr. fighting the drugs and gun charges
Shit, don’t leave me unguarded
And I’m a Cheesehead, word to Vince Lombardi
Word to Marky-Mark to leave the snitch Departed
All that blood like the Red Sea parted
My gun go crazy like it’s retarded
Red light on it, like it’s recording
I ain’t recording, I’m just C-4’n
My currency foreign
We are in a league, they aren’t
Better dig in ya pocket and pay homage
Better cover ya eyes, ya face falling
Watch the game from the side, I’m play calling
No, I didn’t say that I’m flawless
But I damn sure don’t tarnish
My pistol got comments for ya garments
I’m so high I can vomit on a comet
K-Y, no homo, I’m on it
Weezy F. Baby, new born bitch
You know what they say about when ya palm itch
I’m gonna get money, money I’m gonna get
Young Money in ya tummy and we gonna shit
And get that toilet paper quick like when bone spit
That’s right bitch I’m back on my grown shit
That Audermars Piquet, no ice just chrome shit
And your boyfriend softer than a foam pit
I 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 eat
Fireman burn down your entire street
So fly, I’mma take off when I leap, bye
And you can suck my wings
Stand on my money, headbutt Yao Ming
Put ya hand in the oven if ya touch my things
I’m shuffling the cards, ’bout to cut my queens
But I ain’t the dealer
House full of bitches like Tila Tequila
Yeah I’m the Man in the Mirror
My swagger just screaming, motherfucker do ya hear her?
Yeah, Drizzy Drake what the lick read?
We make magic boy, Roy and Sigfried
Woo
Young Mula baby
Yeah
Send "Ignant Shit" Ringtone to your Cell
Feel free to contact us if you think some of the lyrics above are incorrect.
