Lil' Wayne - Grove Street Party lyrics
rate me<strong>Grove Street Party Lyrics</strong>
[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]
I got a whole lot of money, pop that pussy for me
My homie got that yopper, he’ll bang it at a copper
Gangsta party, gangsta party, gangsta party!
Stove on my waist, cook your ass up gourmet
All-black 44, do you want foreplay?
I’m going at your face like Oil of Olay
No champagne, but you know my flag Rose
Swagger on steroids: Canseco, Jose
No Limit Records: We so ’bout it ’bout it
I’m higher than a bitch, feel like a climbed a fucking mountain
Illest nigga you know, my accountants still counting
Shot hit him a minute ago but his body’s still bouncing
Beam on the hammer, beam on your forehead
Gotta kill the witnesses cause Birdman car red
Hollygrove Monster, Eagle Street preacher
Come to your funeral, kill everybody but the preacher
I live in Miami nigga, I’ll South Beach ya
Robin Leach, uh, that’s how we ballin
You know that I’m loaded but please don’t think its sweeter
Beat one of you bitch niggas up like John Cena
Them hoes on Young Money, tell them hoes we coming
Before we get it popping, we ain’t saving hoes, we swapping
Yeah, gangsta party, gangsta party, gangsta party!
Big head Desert Eagle, call it “shotty”
How’d you get that money? Stunna taught me that
That Zan took me under, patron brought me back
I’m leaning on you muthafuckers like I caught a flat
And that Glock snap back like a old Starter hat
What the lick read? I’m in the big league
I’m a breath of fresh air “Let the bitch breathe!”
I’m trying to chillax but I had to do it, dev
I’m at the funeral like “I had to do it, rev!”
Mack you my big brother, I split a wig for you
Put that on repeat until they bury me
Moment of clarity: yeah, that’s my diamond game
I keep a fine bitch cause I like the finer things
Fuck with me slime, no brain on the whip
I’ve got nothing in mind
Call the 4, they ain’t fucking with mine
I drop that Sorry 4 the Wait to make up for the time
[Verse 2: Lil B]
Yeah I do my thang, bitch what’s up?
Young Based God, came in with the ballers
Iced out chain, bitch, I’m rich off that same shit
See 5 hoes on my dick, bitch, it’s Christmas
Straight Westside, Bay Area bitch, I’ll graze em
Pretty boy shit, Based God from the Angeles
On like a cradle and you niggas can’t stop me
Shouts out to Mack Maine getting rich incoggy
Bitch it’s still West side, shouts out to Weezy
Young Based God with that 55 heater
187 bitch, I put it to 11 bitch
With that tiny shirt mane and the tiny pants mane
I’m on Based World and I fuck with, Cash Money my nigga
Don’t understand man the game like a chain
Woo woo! Swag, bitch, Brang-dang-dang-dang
Off the top, I’m a Wolfpack hitter
Man, my life just a painting and I paint you a picture, mane
Think about it: a young paid-ass nigga
This that stuntin’ music; bitch, I just do’s it
It’s Lil B and I’ll muthafuckin prove it
