Ain't Got Time Lyrics & Tabs by Lil Wayne
Ain't Got Time
guitar chords lyrics
Rolling stocky, kinda brocky
On the streets where niggas
If you plotting I'mma prol'ly get to pop an extra noggin
I'm a Hollygrove problem, like "Follow me yeah
Come and be my death volunteer."
I come to get that scratch
I done been to jail twice
And tell them crackers I ain't never going back, huh?
Rode through the city with the metal on my back, huh?
Gave me a shot and I sent several of 'em back, huh?
Gave me some money, they won't ever get it back now
One million, two million, three million: I'm stacked now
No more crack now, it's in the back for now
Just in case she crack down
I never back down
No more crack now, it's in the back for now
Just in case she crack down
I never back down
Shit bitch, I might react now
But, four million, five million, six million: I'm that now
Where you at clown?
You at ground, so set down you bitch you
I make a nigga hide that pride
I ain't got time for you bitches
I'm trying get these riches
Real niggas know that vision
I ain't time for you haters
I'm trying get this paper
Real ladies know that labor
I ain't got time for you snitches
I'm trying get them riches
Real niggas know that vision
You motherfuckers know what I'm out here doing
And you ain't gotta buy it, if you not into it
Dope block influenced:
Blue pale light, scream
I'm on that same ass block
Letting the bell ring
I could get your stomach out of your back
I could make you shit better
This better, than what them selling
They need drugs no penicillin
And I'm the medicine man
Yes I am him
Yup, yup. Hip, hip, hoo-ray
20 hard came today
And two large was the pay
And the coast guard said it was okay
Bring them boys to the bay
And my bitch looks like a DeBarge so I call her bait
She put packs in her bra, and the keys in the case
If she ever try to skate with the cake, and relocate
I got her social and her birthdate, bitch please!
I talk like a hustler, walk like a hustler
Stripper attitude, only money make me move
Dapper dan status, I'm the Stunner part two
I got an image to uphold, and my image do too
I'm off the scrimmage line like Emmitt 2-2
Why would the quarter back give it to you?
I gotta hundred sacks, and a hundred women: French twist
And we don't even talk, we just French kiss
I could never get
pinched
I'm rocking like a big pimp, momma only dated hustlers
So I could only commend them
And never roll with a dummy on your hip
Have the judge giving you a run-on sentence
Never that. I keep the gun on, for that business
And when I'm not, I'm at business
See that's that, mad business, peep the simplistics:
Cash Money
