Lil’ Wayne – Earthquake Lyrics

(Speak to them Jazze)


(Yea fly guy)

I’m way more fly than you

(That’s right)

I’ll take your dime from you

(That’s right)

Now she wanna spend all night with me

(She wanna wake up with Weezy-F baby)

Let me be the one that you throw it to, baby

(Throw it back ma, throw it back, throw it back, throw it back ma)

I’d like to spend the rest of my night with you

(Yea so how bout you, so how bout you)

I’ll take your bitch give her back; take your bitch again

That’s because you throw a 5 I pitch a 10

Now she wanna get inside of me 66

She sees that my wrist is blue and yellow like Michigan

She say she love her man she misses him

But nobody do it better than her distance dick (me)

I’m her long distance pimp

When I land my bitches want for me on the strip (yup)

And I don’t lie I confess, I’m the one who turn that orange vest to a dress

Gotta dress to impess though, Gotta stay clean, plus momma in a Lex 4

She with me, what you expect, I live to be fly to death

It’s the bird man jr. sincerely yours

When it rains it pours, when it rain it whores

Now why you wanna go do that

I can see through that

Tattoo right there like I view that

Girl what that say, what who that

Bet he was lame, bet he Lil’ Wayne (no)

Cus I’m way more flyer

Have you hanging round a bunch of yayo buyers (nop)

And not a day go by us, we don’t get high than the telephone wires

Cut your telephone we riding where phones don’t roam they don’t even come on

You’re far from home so leave it alone

You creeping with the king of the throne

You sleeping in a tee and a thong

With your hair in a pony

I ain’t got no blinds we can stare at the morning (yup)

But I can’t be there all morning

Girl I’m a pimp, I’m going, going, going, gone

I’m Sorry I was grooving

Gotta love that laid back Mannie Fresh music

But let’s get back to what we were doing

Laid back in that black on Pat Ewing’s

That’s 33 tires he fire

These streets ain’t papaya ma

You gotta keep heat on your side

2 must

So I’m a get 3 more and cop you one

Wait, naw hun cus you ain’t exempt

If your ass ever trip I’ll give you a clip (yea)

But I love the way your jeans suck in your hip

And you walk kinda mean how you strut with a dip

And you talk kinda clean and you lick your lips

But I can’t fall for you cus I stick to the scrip (yup)

I said I stick to my grip; I stick to my money, that’s life to me

Sorry honey Jazze

So how bout you yea

So how bout you

See what I’m talking bout sweet heart you ain’t even gotta have John Madden

you ain’t gotta have Dick Vitale, you ain’t gotta Lee Carsole

you ain’t gotta have Stuart Scott, you ain’t gotta have Linda Cohn

know what I’m talking bout, you ain’t gotta have the staff of ESPN

you ain’t gotta have ABC staff just to talk sports baby cus I got game

Just fuck with the boy and I’ll get you a jersey

What you want me to put on the back

Daddy’s little girl that’s right, see what I’m talking bout

I can’t give you the game but I can show the game

and you can see what you see and peek how you peek and see what you get

know what I’m talking bout