Watch My Shoes Lyrics

3 Deep Lyrics



OK, No Ceilings, motherf**ker, good morning
D**k in your mouth while you're yawning, I'm going in
Gudda, why they started me? Marley, why they started me?
I bring it to your front door like you ordered me
Back in this b*t*h, but a lot more rich
On my Papa Bear sh*t, need hot porridge
Got a lot more sh*t than you can ever fathom
A big-head n***a couldn’t even imagine
The sh*t I do, most doers never done
I'ma f**k this beat, you b*t*h, ooh, you better c*m
Bet I run this sh*t, I don't run from sh*t
I still b-beat your a** like a f**king drumstick
Weezy F**king Baby, baby, make the ladies come quick
The money can’t fit in my pockets, but I'll bet that gun fit
And I’m so unfit 'cause all I eat is rappers
And these rappers ain't sh*t, I like my fast food faster
Syrup got me slow like a turtle 'round this ho
And I'm flyer than the highest-flying bird around this ho
What's the word around this ho? You get served around this ho
Yeah, you get served like a f**king hors d'œuvre around this ho
I don’t splurge around no ho, no, I don’t shine in front of no b*t*h
'Cause after she get off my d**k, I be like "Find the front door, b*t*h"
I don't know why in the f**k your b*t*h keep coming by
I done f**ked your b*t*h a hundred times
What the f**k your b*t*h got on her mind? My f**king d**k
I call her "d**khead," spicy like a Big Red
Strike you like a Bic head—your flow sick? My sh*t dead
Sillier than V.I.C. said, Soulja Boy and Arab
You should see my eleven-year-old daughter do they dance
I call it the Nae-Nae dance, proud to be Nae-Nae’s dad
Gun on the waistline, leave you in the wasteland
We are not the same, I am a Martian, this is Space Jam
No Ceilings, R.I.P., Amen
Motherf**king caveman, beating on my chest
Young Money, Cash Money, and I'm eating all the rest
N***a, no offense, sorry if you're offended
Riding high like I'm on 54 inches
Man, I'd rather chill with 54 b*t*hes
Ch—Chill like— Ch—Chill like an Eskimo
L—Let's get more— Let's get more b*t*hes
And I be like, "Let's get more b*t*hes"
Mr. Officer, stop arresting your b*t*hes
Stop letting the messy hoes mess with your business
Mickey Mouse cheese, hip-hop Walt Disney
Sheesh, gosh, Oshkosh B’gosh
Smoking on that Bob Marley, listening to Pete Tosh
I—I—I do me; no, I do three
At a T... I-M-E
Why, when we say we Young Mula
The b*t*hes leave y'all and relay-run to us
And payday comes sooner than later 'round here
And you see my sharks like they got some bait around here
Hey, you better stop the hate around there
Before Tommy, Mac, and Nina debate around there, yeah
You see it in my face, I don’t care
Whole court hearing, trial, and the case around there
I'm the best thing yet, I know I got that thing wet
Everybody wan' be fly but don’t know where their wings at
Huh, had to pause for a minute
Now, I'm right back in it, like the drawers of the women
On a scale of one to ten-n, my girl be a twenty
My girl so bad, make a n***a think he sinnin'
My goons so gritty, my goons is so with me
Haters gotta go on iTunes to go get me
Gators, matadors, baboons, and those grizzlies
All come out me when I'm on the micropho-N-E
Mic check, two-three; I'm different like blue pee
And my girls be half-naked like Betty Boop be
Like a hoopty, man, the boy been riding
And I ain't ga**ed up, 'cause I'm more like a hybrid
You think I'm stunting, but no, I'm just surviving
And I been here, but my soul is just arriving
Look up in the air, it's a crow, it's a robin
No Ceilings, full dose, I'm prescribing
Medication free, and for meditation, we
Smoke some better tastin' weed that you’ll ever taste or see
S-H-A-R-P as a tack, hotter than
Riding through the desert on a camel back, I done been
Riding through wherever with the hammer strapped, I ain't lying
I can do whatever if I'm planning that
So I got my guns, let's dance, like FannyPack
And we cook the hard, cut the soft, and bring the whammys back
Mafio, b*t*h, where your motherf**king family at?
Call my n***a Gudda if you trying to get your mammy back
All up in another n***a woman, I be ramming that
Seeing through these see-through n***as like they're laminate
Hip-hop so contaminate, I swear, just examine it
And I'm such a philanthropist, the God to these evangelists
I dress so Los Angeles, but I love Miami, though
I act so New Orl-e-ans, yes, I go pistachios
That means I go nuts on any beat they throw at me
And the b*t*hes is so at me, and you know what they throw at me
Hahaha!


No—No Ceilings




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