Fly Out
Title | Fly Out |
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Artist | Lil Wayne |
Album | Tha Carter II |
Release Date | 2005-12-06 |
Description | The final song on Tha Carter II, “Fly Out” completes a trilogy of songs (“Fly In”, “Carter II”) on the album that all feature the same beat This song sums up Lil Wayne’s street and rap credentials as he goes on for two minutes straight about how hard and adept as a rapper he is also repping his hood. There’s no hook, no pauses, just straight flow |
Lyrics | [Intro] We here I said we here The back of Tha Carter, yeah The back of Tha Carter Two, uh Yeah This here is The end of Tha Carter Two, people Hey, yeah [Verse] I got the game on ball and chain I threw the key in the drain, I'm like a key in a drought I spent a G on these frames, but my vision is priceless Seeing through you niggas like a fuckin' psychic Hearing through the grapevine, niggas wanna hate mine Say my name and die in the daytime You catch my drift, man, you better be Peyton Boy, the heat's on, they makin' peace bonds I'm in this bitch throwin' up the "17th" sign Straight frowns, no daps, strapped three times That Tec-11, AK-47, one Beretta Ready for whatever, tell them pussy niggas, "Come together" Heavy better, nigga, super-soaker wet a nigga Six feet under flowers, you ain't nothin' but a petal, nigga I'm just a little nigga tryin' to be a civil nigga Thirty years old, shit, that'll be a given, nigga Quit it, Wayne, your Mom is listenin' But she ain't really trippin' 'cause the pots is pissed in Them niggas trippin' until the shots whistlin' Hear them bullets hissin' like a cobra at attention I got a bitch and quit callin' women bitches As long as she don't worry 'bout the coke in the kitchen No preventin' the grind, I gotta get it I'm admitted to the game, true player, no quittin' There you go shittin' on the way a nigga thinkin' Only history I know is Benjamin Franklin And since the future ain't promised to no one I live every day like this is the sure one Trade in the tidal wave, this is the ocean Stand in that heat 'til the motherfucking snow come And it feels so fuckin' good Throw my dope like a rope, let 'em tug and pull No hope for the hopeless, rats and roaches Running 'cross the porch, in the attic there's a fortune Come and get it, automatics in motion We bangin' for the bread, nigga, even the molded I got my loaf, I got my toast Chaperone of the South, I got my coast Yeah, and until I die I'm the, the-the, the-the, the Best Rapper AliveYou might also like |