Letra de I Don’t Like the Look of It - Lil Wayne

(Feat. Gudda Gudda)

I don't like the look of it

Okay, I'm sippin' on the syrup, got a nigga movin' slow

I'm all about the money, what the fuck you think I do it for?

Bitch, don't act like you don't know, I'm killin' all these rap niggas

Custom made caskets for yo' motherfuckin' funeral

Keep the women with me, shit, I gotta keep like two or more

Party everyday, like we won the fuckin' Super Bowl

Chillin' with my nigga Mack, he keep bitches handy

White girl on the table, let 'em sniff the nose candy

When I'm walkin' by, the women sayin', "Who is that nigga?"

I replied, "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda, that nigga!"

I was raised in the home of the cap splitters

Whip on 24's, watch it crawl like a caterpillar

I come with a toy, boy, like a Happy Meal

And you's a motherfuckin' duck, Daffy-dil

I'm from the school of hard knocks where we scrap and kill

Pick the knife or gun or you can get the package deal

I'm hot, nigga, burnin' everything around me

I was lost for a minute, took a while, but I found me (Gudda)

The streets say I'm king but the game'll never crown me (Gudda)

Realest nigga doin' it, just ask them niggas 'round me (Gudda)

So you can't size me up or try to clown a—

Shark in the water, jump in and I'ma drown you

New Orleans nigga, gun out, I'ma down you

Put niggas to sleep like a muh'fuckin' downer (Gudda)

I'm a Great White, you's a flounder

Fish and a bitch, I tuna eveything around you

U-Haul Gudda, movin' everything around you (Yeah)

It's Young Money, bitch! At the top is where they found us, nigga

Uh, goons on deck, Marley don't shoot 'em

Silence on the gun, watch a nigga mute 'em

The coach in the booth, call me Jon Gruden

School these niggas, they all my students

All jokes aside, I ain't playin' with ya

The weed broke down like a transmission

The chopper spin him 'round, like a ballerina

Bitch, I'm still spittin' like I ate a jalape-na

I'm from uptown, my bitch from Argentina

My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena

Stunt so hard, it's all y'all fault

And when it come to beef, give me A1 Sauce

I ain't worryin' 'bout shit, everything paid out

You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade house

With a high, yellow, thick bitch with her legs out

Cash Money president, but we in a red house

Who the fuck want it? Make my fuckin' day

I blow your candles out, now, nigga, cut the cake

I gotta eat, bitch! Like a runaway

Y'all niggas ain't eatin', stomach ache

Okay, all these bitches and niggas still hatin'

I used to be ballin', but now I'm Bill Gate-in'

Fuckin' with my iPhone, bumpin' Illmatic

I'm on the road to riches, there's just a lil' traffic

Hair still platted, thuggin' is a habit

Keep my guitar, hip hop Lenny Kravitz

Bunch of bad bitches and I fuck 'em like rabbits

Dope dick Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, uh

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