Triple X

Letra de Lil Wayne - Look At Me

Letras de Triple X

"Lil Wayne - Look At Me"

I got your girl doing a handstand (Look at me) 
Cop them 28-inch Birdman's (Check out me) 
Y'all dues money to ya 
Bright thing on my hand saying (Look at me) 
I got your girl doing a handstand (Look at me) 
Cop them 28-inch Birdman's (Check out me) 
Big thighs with brown-eyes 

[Verse 1] 
It's Lil Weezy for real 
Only Cash Money Hot Boy that stood still 
I got a good deal 
I'm from a trill hood 
I smoke real good 
Slide on them skinnies in the bike with an ill hood 
Pipes, rally stripes and fog lights 
T-shirt white, three stripes with all ice 
What that boy name 
Birdman junior, huh 
Fool was smile but five is so wild 
I can smoke a green mile 
Got a chrome need a Rolls shined up for you baby 
Bling-blow, I rock a throwback Jordan 23 
Rolling on hot 23's 
Tote a big glock 23 
You're looking at the seventeen ward of New Orleans 
My block living me 
I want you to look hard at some easy money 
Stop playing this is Weezy company 


[Verse 2] 
I'm the son of Cash Money 
The fodd of the squad 
And Baby bout to buy me a house in the sky 
Cuz I'm so fly 
When my feet touch the ground sometimes I gotta ask myself why 
Coupe kinda wide but I move sorta quick 
Looking for my roof where it went 
Mink on the floor big shoes on the bed 
Windows are the tint more wood than a bench 
Working in the hood more green than the Grinch 
Please don't play cuz I'm connected like Sprint 
Ladies on the tray popping up the back-end 
Peppermint leather with a feather in my brim 
It's Lil Weezy 
Sucking on my wrist real breezy 
And this is what I say when you see me 
Look, and leave your broad at home she get took 
Cuz I'm a player hold the game by the book 


[Verse 3] 
Some call me Weezy 
But hoes holla look at Lil Wayne 
In that booger-green lay like should've been Mace 
Sweet, do speak when I should've put trays 
Forget it I'ma slam it on bubba-bubba-blaze 
So move over what you say shortie 
We could do rent pussy 
Normally I wouldn't but beating through the Texas 
And beating went to the A 
Eat with desert fey 
But yeah I'm on my way 
Cuz I know he got that hay 
Hey little mami 
You a ghetto fire tin 
You come to my post on the island 
Come on that chronic 
He-he empty vodka bottles 
I be high he be drunk that my roll model 
I rolls by you with my seat reclining 
When I stop rims don't keep spinning they keep shining 
Money don't stop keep spinning and keep grinding 
Cash Money what you hollering, huh