Feel Me Lyrics
So, Lil Wayne, what's your motivation?
Is that really a question? (Yeah, shorty)
Do you really have that written down in your notepad? (You already)
You should be ashamed of yourself (C2)
You smell me, girl, I smell like money (why not? What's better?)
See, that's what they don't understand (not a goddamn thing)
To me, it was always get money or die (yeah)
I come up under Birdman, the Number One Stunna, you know what I mean?
I'm Stunna Jr. (Yeah), and that's all I know, that's all I ever knew
Get money or get nothing, you know what I'm saying? (I feel)
And I feel that way (I feel it), for real
So hard I go, I keep pushing (yeah)
The game so crazy, I'm in it like deep pussy (yeah)
I got chip from tryna get the whole cookie
Used to make a thousand dollars every time I played hooky (yeah)
Dwayne Carter absent, keep looking (bitch)
I'm present on the block, I'm a legend on the block (yeah)
Ice so bright like heaven on the watch (yeah)
Yeah, nigga, I done dropped one-eleven on the watch (Uh)
So watch and see what I do (yeah, yeah)
Breeze by you so fast, got you sneezing, hachoo
They got the shivers, man, I got the fever
I gotta bring the hood back after Katrina
Weezy F Baby, now the F is for FEMA
Sick nigga, bitch, I spit that leukemia (bitch)
Yeah, no cure, no help
So me, so good, so hard, so felt
And that's just my point right there
That's what I'm always trying to stress, know what I'm saying?
If you don't understand me, if you don't feel me, then you ain't real
In my eyes, and that's all that count to me, you know?
So, is your music considered the voice of urban America or America period?
I mean, I would say the voice of the hood 'cause that's who I speak for
And myself, you know what I mean? My family, that's who I represent
My homies (yeah), my girl, my life, you know?
C'mon, bang this shit, nigga, pump my shit (yeah)
You gotta bang that wimp and go and dump that bitch (yeah)
You gotta claim that strip and go and flood that bitch (yeah)
You gotta aim that shit and straight bust that shit
Like motherfuck them niggas, what they wan' do? I'm ready
Tevin Campbell, no homo, black Rambo (yeah, yeah)
Fucking with the boy, baby, that's a gamble (yeah)
If he won in Vegas, leave him on the crap table (Come on)
I'm willing and I'm able to come run up in your stable (yeah)
Like nobody make a sound, where the paper? Where the paper?
Gotta get it, gotta have it (yeah), once I got it, I'ma spend it (yeah)
Then it's back to doing any damn thing just to get it (yeah)
The re-ups be like birthday parties (Huh?)
No room to park the cars in the garages (Huh?)
So outside the cribs, all you see is 'erraris
If I ain't say it right, fuck it, I ain't foreign
And see, that's where everybody getting me wrong at, you know what I mean?
I got that heat rock, for real
Why do you think other rappers lack the impact of your music?
That's because they ain't got that heat rock like me, you know what I mean?
They ain't spitting like me
They're spitting, but, know what I mean, they ain't got colds
I got the flu over here, man (yeah), for real
I need relief
Y'all help me, for real (yeah)
I know y'all sick of me, 'cause I'm tired of y'all, for real
And based on the bank, I'm doing much better than a lot of these niggas
I'm tired of these niggas
Yawning when I see 'em, make me stretch and pull the burner (yeah)
I'm cocking back and passing
They catch 'em in their sternum
Ooh-ooh, that gon' probably burn you (yeah)
That gon' probably learn you (yeah)
To never, ever, ever (what?)
Ever, ever, ever come around here no more
Rich gangsters over here, you gotta die with the broke bitch
I'm the god, I should ride with the Pope
But the boy so hood, I just ride with my ho (yeah)
Yeah, and tell her 'bout Hollygrove
Tell her 'bout my last show, tell her 'bout my last ho
You know, just born to mack
Call me Deion Sanders, bring the corner back, yeah
I'm in my prime, niggas falling back (okay)
That's right, I'm coming, baby, yeah, hard as crack
And that's just what it is, nigga (yeah)
If you don't like my shit, then fuck you and your shit, man, straight up
That's how I was taught, that's how I was brought up
And that's how I'ma go down, man, for real
Cash Money Young Money in your motherfucking throat, bitch
Weezy F Baby, this interview is over
Go to the next song, bitch
Writer(s): Dwayne Carter, Bigram Zayas, Matthew Del Giorno
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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