[Lil Wayne]
Hate is temporary
Love is necessary
I went from eating pussy to eating commissary
Damn, I am the sickest, I need therapy
You can buy the answers but you can’t afford to question me
First off I don’t need you second guessing me
Jail is like third base: I’m coming home eventually
Still got shooters like hot tubs
Man I'm anemic: still got blood
I’m in my cell reading fan mail
Wish I was in Amsterdam sipping Amstel
Thinking bout all of that pussy I can’t smell
Man they did me wrong; I feel like Nelson Mandel’
I shine too hard my lamp fell
My name still ringing: Alexander Graham Bell
I know you met damn, cause you know damn well
That I still got you open, open like a clam shell
Yeah, still fly on my hawk shit
My conversation stinks cause I talk shit
Stay in your lane you’re on that double-park shit
We eating at the top, get a spoon and a forklift
I got rap wrapped up like a gift
I’d be sober if gift was a fifth
I’m feeling like Elvis – jailhouse rock
I’m not 2Pac, I’m the New Pac
Behind bars but the bars don’t stop recording over the phone
I hope the call don’t drop
Drizzy got the ball and I know the ball won’t drop
And I pray none of my kids never wanna be cops
Young Money get ‘em, Young Money got ‘em
The boss got his feet up, vacation on an island
Yeah and tell your girls send the kite up
And even if you don’t smoke motherfucker you gon’ have to light up
Hate is temporary
Love is necessary
I went from eating pussy to eating commissary
Damn, I am the sickest, I need therapy
You can buy the answers but you can’t afford to question me
First off I don’t need you second guessing me
Jail is like third base: I’m coming home eventually
Still got shooters like hot tubs
Man I'm anemic: still got blood
I’m in my cell reading fan mail
Wish I was in Amsterdam sipping Amstel
Thinking bout all of that pussy I can’t smell
Man they did me wrong; I feel like Nelson Mandel’
I shine too hard my lamp fell
My name still ringing: Alexander Graham Bell
I know you met damn, cause you know damn well
That I still got you open, open like a clam shell
Yeah, still fly on my hawk shit
My conversation stinks cause I talk shit
Stay in your lane you’re on that double-park shit
We eating at the top, get a spoon and a forklift
I got rap wrapped up like a gift
I’d be sober if gift was a fifth
I’m feeling like Elvis – jailhouse rock
I’m not 2Pac, I’m the New Pac
Behind bars but the bars don’t stop recording over the phone
I hope the call don’t drop
Drizzy got the ball and I know the ball won’t drop
And I pray none of my kids never wanna be cops
Young Money get ‘em, Young Money got ‘em
The boss got his feet up, vacation on an island
Yeah and tell your girls send the kite up
And even if you don’t smoke motherfucker you gon’ have to light up
