Big Bad Wolf Guitar Chords Lil Wayne
Mostly G and F is used through out the song. If you know any better, please rectify!
[Intro]
Mmm
Yeah
[Verse]
–(G)–Keep that shit on Twitter
Y’all ain’t lit, y’all litter
Keep that shit in your shitter
Or eat that shit, don’t spit up (Rrr!)
Keep my bad bitch, did her
Keep my man bitch, put up
Watchin’ me do push-ups
Just playin’ with herself and I look up (Damn!)
Your thot need to get her look up
You plottin’ on me, my foot up
Your squad ain’t hard, that’s cushion
That ain’t sauce, that’s puddin’
Tunechi ’cause her bosom (Damn!)
Shootin’ up the jurors (Damn!)
Don’t name my pistol
I name the trigger, Benjamin Button, push ’em (Bam!)
Y’all just pussy, get buried together and let ’em play footsie
Y’all just wussy
I got some bullets, go pull up in hoodies and come take a looksie
Better play hooky
I got some hookers hookin’ up with some politicans
And some elites and some college niggas
So your missus on all kind of missions
I’m the sickest nigga skippin’ doctors visits
But my pockets, pistons smokin’ hockey stick
Put a stockin’ on my face and hit a lick in’
When shit get ugly, I go pretty Ricky
I don’t fuck with rats, neither Minnie Micky
I don’t fuck with cops, that’s the piggly wiggly
Fuck my bitch’s friends, and they friendly-friendly
While your bitch givin’ me her twenty-twenty like she tired of Mickey-D’s
Went to Denny’s like she tired of Macy’s
JC Penny’s, I got bitches gettin’ tired of spinning, spin it
If we winning, win it
I got Dream Chasers that ain’t never dreamt it
So I had to tenant it and I had to rent it
And I worked the lanes like Shaq and Penny
It’s the blood gang, it’s the money gang
Red rags to riches, need happy endings
Then it’s back to business and we laugh at sentencin’
Hungry lawyers make a snack out witnesses
Hungry artists or starving artists in the kitchen
Restaurant and cafeterias
Don’t make a difference if you taste the difference
Better pay the difference to the racketeers
Now you pull up looking like you crackin’ mirrors
Now the artificial become sacrificial
That’s a body count, where the mathematician?
Where the wettest clitoris and baddest nipples?
Where the ass that jiggle, where to grab a tickle?
Where the throat deep enough to land a missile?
If ya nigga miss you and he have opinions
Tell him two cents is only half a nickel
Now we at his villa, aiming at his pillars
Yeah, triggers fingers finna act like bristles
‘Boutta catch a triple, flip kick jiu-jitsu
Throwing pool parties, she don’t have a swimsuit
Need to help her friends through, I think that’s official
Got my neighbor’s eyes bigger than the Simpson’s
And I’m magnificent so I had to pimp her
And she had potential but he lacked credentials
So give me a sec, I’ll go at your neck
And send you back looking like the Dracula bit you (Rrr!)
Yeah, cannibalism going animalistic in a line of civilians
These niggas clones, copycats, and chameleons
Once they dead and gone, no power familiar
When she left her thong, that’s paraphernalia
Sound familiar? My plug’s Sicilian
He the one who told me that sometimes you gotta leave ya life for million behind the millions
Rhyme or reason
I’m the reason, got they eyes wide but to blind to see ’em
With friends like those, it make me text all my enemies and tell ’em I don’t need ’em
Hallelujah, power intruders
Bitch walk around my house like Hooters
Towel user, power user
Molly mixed with white girl, Molly Susan
Niggas talkin’ out their bowel movers
Turnin’ homies into flower choosers
Turn your kids into father choosers
Make your bitch a widow and your mom a cougar
I’m a silent shooter with a silent shooter
Clap at you, if don’t die, I’ll boo ya
Tell a doc that’s tryna to save your life and runnin’ wires through you
He could die next to ya (Rrr!)
I’ma make the nurse ride me like a giant scooter
Let her partner shoot her
We pull out the movie, win awards
She got a Golden Globe head and her Oscar booty
Niggas prostitutin’, these rappers ain’t talkin’ ’bout shit
Not even ’bout pollution
Ain’t got a house to live in, ain’t got a pool to swim in
Change in their pockets, nor a couch to lose it
And Robert Houston with the contribusive for the Monster juices
Monster too slow, my [?], macho mucho
Big bad wolf, watch the moon glow (Rrr!)
I got a greek freak, she call me Antetokounmpo
Just follow the kupo and I know that you know
I’m hotter than Sushi, still swallow my soup bowl
I’m out of my loophole, you outta the loop though
Got all these niggas on silent and mute mode
The power to do so, my pocket is sumo
Gettin’ the moolah by the minuto
Mafia Nuvo, I am the uno
Real boss nigga, shit, might have a Hugo
Fuck with me, I go loud and paloozo
Pull up trigger finger, holler, and pull though
(Pah, pah, pah) Sound like a symphony or Operah, tudo
Hittin’ some new notes
And I am the maestro and you just a typo
Private flight, don’t fly in too low
I’m wiser than you know, a private school flow
I got me a Lou Holt when I was a do hole
Prom with the college and one with the juco
I had to ask ’em, what’s four plus two though? (Rrr!)
