Lil Wayne – In a Cell Lyrics

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[Intro]
Cut the music up please
Man

[Verse 1]
I’m so fucked up, you have no idea
I smoke that La La La, it’s music to my ears
All my niggas is wasted, got guns on they waist
She don’t use Pro-Active, she put Cum on her face
I’m a real nigga first, I’m a bitch nigga never
Shawty suck me dry, I’m talkin’ dry like a dessert
Nigga get off my dick, bitch, get on my level
I don’t gas these hoes, take your foot off the pedal
Man, I be on my dick, ’bout to break my neck
Shout Nyjah Huston, Stevie Will, Ryan Sheck’
Papa got the TEC, it can get technical
Pimp shit, never, put the pussy on a pedestal
Niggas out of shape, I’m just bein’ geometrical
Tunechi, leave ’em bitches behind like residue
New Orleans, where we turn a funeral into a festival
Young Money, long money, it ain’t even measurable
I’m stuntin’, uh, like my daddy
She give me neck, uh, Peyton Manning
Yeah, I press a button, uh, and lose my roof
I’m spittin’ blood shit like I lost a tooth, uh

[Chorus]
I went from sittin’ in a cell
To sittin’ on a jet
From shittin’ in a cell
To shittin’ on a jet
I made too much money, I ain’t make enough yet
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best

[Verse 2]
Man, all these bitches and niggas still hatin’
My homies got that weight and I ain’t talkin’ ’bout patience
Man, we be on some other shit, kidnap your mother shit
And we smoke that strong like the weed got muscles, bitch
I’m Tunechi, got what you need
I got some cocaine and some California weed
Them bitches jockin’, niggas hatin’, drunk off Gin and Socko
If he keep on talkin’ shit, I’ll knock the meat out his taco
And I ain’t playin’, I got killers with me, ain’t got no squealers with me
And the back of the milk carton say my ceiling’s missing
And now my vision blurry and I’m with kissin’ cousins
I’ll make ’em rob you masked up, you think them bitches muslims
Scoob filmin’ it, smooth criminal
I’ma prince, nigga, you Arsenio
We pick you off and bounce, that’s the pick and roll
Crème de la crème, de la crème [?]
T, where you at? Make the blunt fat
Young Money that special team, run the punt back
Yeah, that’s me in that ‘Gatti with the hump back
I’ll stick my thumb in her pussy with a thumbtack

[Chorus]
Sittin’ in a cell (Woah)
To sittin’ on a jet
From shittin’ in a cell
To shittin’ on a jet
I lost too many homies and I won too many bets
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best, uh-huh

[Outro]
Uh-huh
Uh-huh
Uh-huh

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