[Hook:] There ain’t no love like… Like father like son, nigga…
[Birdman:] Yeah It’s filthy with quarter ki’s in the kitchen on ’em Tha block is hot but we out here gettin it on ’em And keep a tool everytime we hit the streets Cause these niggas act a fool and we be quick to put it on ’em Them tear drops homie we so not The nigga to fuck with cause we will pop .40 cal keep it cocked nigga ready to block Keep a gun a extra clip homie that’s how we rock And like father like son daddy we don’t borrow We stay on the grind homie cause we grind harder And fuckin with me homie you won’t like You be the next t-shirt, we in ya hood all night We got birds flyin out and we’ve allowed the pipes We do this state to state thing and cheat the price And Rufus came home and I told him to shave But he was tellin me about them pussy niggas back in the eighties, baby
[Hook]
[Lil Wayne:] Listen Birdman put me on when I was just eleven He was my teacher, so I was like fuck the lesson He was my preacher, so I was like fuck the reverend My mother Cita, she said that I was with the devil My mother Cita, now say that he was sent from heaven So, I take heed to every single word that he tell me And I remember what my poppa told me Remember what my poppa told me, Young Stunna
[Birdman:] Yeah I’m out c’here homie pitchin the game And yes I do the whole thing nigga give me my change Yes we do the same thing out the brand new Range Little nigga like his father homie doin his thing We keep the gun for paper homie aimed and cocked Every nigga in my circle homie ready to pop We be ridin drop tops that’s just how we rock And I’ll be ridin in the Phantom through my up town blocks Nigga
[Hook]
[Lil Wayne:] Alright money on my mind Look I-I-I I hear you niggas wisperin I say wisperin cause you niggas ain’t hollerin bout shit Po’ pussy ass niggas gangster and me Look Birdman jr fuck the world pops And we gon keep it movin even if the world stops Stay strapped and laced like girl socks Stay dapped and drapped like a birthday cake Birthdays was the worst days Now we sippin’ on Louis when we thirsty Ya know, I do believe the moneys cursed me So I pray to God that the devil dont murk me, uh Little Wizzle but you bitches call me first place And papa taught me paper chase never skirt chase I put you niggas in the closet in the shirt space You niggas yellow like Sesame street Bert’s face Worst case scenario, burial Two tone Carara like Mascara, uh The G4 take your boy where ever Like father, like son the era, nigga