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"Ice Cream Paint Job" lyrics by LIL WAYNE
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"Ice Cream Paint Job"

Young Money
Syrup in a big shot
Time to do the thing that's the word to ya wrist watch
Shoot the glock till it burn till my wrist lock
Rims sellin big time skinny like chris rock
Hold the gun sideways like oh dog
Shoot a nigga in his face knock his nose off
Make the girl say my name like roll call
Pain killers got the nigga bout to dose off
Big shit nigga talk big shit nigga
Big bread bread like picnic nigga
Shake the whole game like a hit stick nigga
Money spread like germs get sick nigga
Yea and fuck them other niggas one nine hunnit
Who want it I'll deliver
Concrete shoes won't help in the river
I don't care if you was michael phelps my nigga
I'm higher then the mothafuckin alps my nigga
I'm flyer then the mothafuckin stelp my nigga
Young money shit top self my nigga
We the mothafuckas like milf my nigga
Uh um flow like saringes
Yea I'm in my mode gotta cold like devinches
I was in the trenches now I'm in the trunk
And everybody watch ya back when your in the front
You ain't never saft stop playin with a gangster
Bring it to his face and he ran like a flanka
Bend a girl over put her hands on her ankles
I'm all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles
Why thank you if you a hater
I'm eatin you's a waiter pistol on my hip tomb raider
Holla at your gualla soon later
Young tune nigga typhoon nigga
And if you think it's sweet by a room nigga
Daamoo nigga
I'm on my gang shit
She give me good brain like she studied at camridge
Lightin up a mothafuckin blunt
Stupid fruity swagg like a mothafuckin runt
And I be with my dog like a mothafuckin huntin
And everyday of the week is the first of the month
Start em' up again with the diamonds in her face
Can't tell her time cause the diamonds in her face
We can get it poppin like a semi-automatic
And if you got beef I'll put the buscuit on the patty
Rockstar tatted big money addict
Runnin this shit now I'm feelin athletic
I'm on a boat bitch gettin sea sick
Stop playing I'm fresher than 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
I need a massage when it comes to hoes man I got a collage
Finger on the button nigga just stuntin
And if you ain't the bank teller don't tell me nothing
Kush so strong you can smell me coming
Bitch I go hard like the boy from 300
You think ya'll kickin well boy we puntin
Young money baby we the shit weak stomaches
No ceilings

[Thanks to Kristian for these lyrics]
[Thanks to Shakira for correcting these lyrics]

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