Lil’ Wayne – Ice Cream Paint Job Lyrics

Young Money, syrup in the big shot

Time to do the thing thats word to your wrist watch

Shoot the glock till it burn till my wrist lock

Rims hella big tires skinny like Chris Rock

Ho hold the gun sideways like o’dogg

Shoot a nigga in his face knock his nose off

Make the girls say my name like a roll call

Pain killers got a nigga bout ta doze off

Big shit nigga talk big shit nigga

Big bread bread like a picnic nigga

Shake the whole game like the hit stick nigga

Money spread like germs get sick nigga

Yeaa, And fuck them other niggas,

1 9 hundred who want It, I deliver

Concrete shoes wont help in the river

I dont care if you were Michael Phelps my nigga

I’m higher than a mothafucka Alps my nigga

I’m flyer than a mothafucka stilt my nigga

Young Money shit top shelf my nigga

We them mothafuckas like Milf my nigga

UhUhm, Flow like Syringes

Yea I’m in my mode got a code like Da Vinci

I was in the trenches, now I’m in the trunk

And everybody watch your back, when your in the front

You ain’t never safe stop playin with a gangsta

Bring it to his face and he ran like a flanker

Bend the girl over put her hands on her ankles

I’m all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles

Why thank yous, if you a hater

I’m eatin, yous a waiter

Pistol on my hip, Tomb Raider

Holla at your guala, zoom later

Young Tune nigga, typhoon nigga

And if you think its sweet, buy a room nigga

Die or move nigga, Im on my gang shit,

She give me good brain like she studied at Cambridge

Lightin up a mothafucking blunt,

Stupid fruity swag like a mothafucka runt

And I be with my dog like a mothafucking hunt

and everyday of the week is the first day of the month

Audemar Piguet with the diamonds in the face

Can’t tell the time cause the diamonds in the face

We can get it poppin like a semi automatic

And if you got beef I put the biscuit on the patty

Rockstar tatted, big money addict

Running this shit now Im feelin athletic

I I’m on a boat bitch, gettin sea sick

Stop playin Im fresher then a degree stick

Street shit, well of course, I smoke mad weed

I’m on my high horse, please don’t shoot me down, I land feet flat

Then walk a million miles with New Orleans on my back

Haha, I need a massage,

And when it comes to hoes man I got a collage

Finger on the button, nigga just stuntin’

If you ain’t the bank teller don’t tell me nuntin

Kush so strong you can smell me coming

bitch I go hard like the boy from 300

You think ya kick it, well boy we puntin

Young Money baby we the shit weak stomachs

No Ceilings….Mothafucka