Look mama, no hands
|
I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
Yela, how's it going?
|
Oh man, I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
|
Ain't no reason to quit, what the fuck I look like
|
To put a cyst and desist on this heat that I spit, shit, bitch!
|
I believe in my wits, enough to believe on my kids
|
Won't be home 'til Christmas
|
Chevy's on the wish list, no Santa Clause, no m'am, no problems
|
I'm stuck in play like a fair ball
|
Know you love to call it foul, say hip hop ain't in the south
|
But this country rap tunes
|
Got a bitch in the back room with a open mouth ah
|
But sacrifice it all and lord knows it
|
With my life on the bulls eye
|
Make a camera jealous of my focus
|
And that's shady if you ain't notice
|
The things loaded, I put that on my great grand daddy named Otis
|
In a traffic jam, I got my lane open
|
It came with the same token
|
You did and cracked the bank open
|
When they said the rap game was in the drought
|
I was swimming in so much dope I had break my life jacket out
|
|
Like, look mama, no hands
|
I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
Yela, how's it going?
|
Oh man, I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
|
Get a work out bitch, run your lips
|
I know you'd dig a hole six feet deep with a spoon
|
Just to see me trip
|
You window shopping and can't see the gift
|
When the shit is sitting in front of your face
|
Like cement in between the bricks
|
If the world had name for me, I'd be slumarican
|
This whole shit started out real, bitch bet I can
|
And I do it with Casio and a farmers tan and
|
On the top of the hundred grand, fuck bet I stand
|
And I made it through 'cause I had heart
|
Waking up to roaches in my cereal box
|
Buddy, that's a bad start, food stamps in the packed mart
|
On some of these bitch ass rappers would take a dick to say they had it hard
|
Don't make one of these slums go and intercept you
|
Enter your dorm room and punk you Internet goons
|
I'm spring loaded with the assault of an old man drinking a fifth
|
And stepping with my knee in an old van like hey
|
|
Look mama, no hands
|
I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
Yela, how's it going?
|
Oh man, I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
|
A couple of loose screws ain't stopping a train from moving
|
A couple of bucks short of a bill and I'm still one hundred proofing
|
Under the heat like I been metal roofing in a trench coat and a black hooded
|
Head banging to heavy metal music
|
I'm now home thank god bamma its home throwing rocks out the window
|
On 20, that's a milestone hello tomorrow,
|
Yesterday is now gone, I dedicate this song to me
|
Fuck how wrong, shoe laced up with the
|
Mainstream lace up, with the same team
|
That I came up with, bang what
|
Changed the game up, like a change up
|
With a pain that a drain on to bitch you better remain up
|
Bang what!, use to help weezy back up 50 pounds,
|
Green bay backing a bowl up
|
A broke soul packing the couch
|
But the landlord used to kick me out
|
But I went from packing my house
|
To packing the house bitch, like
|
|
Look mama, no hands
|
I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
Yela, how's it going?
|
Oh man, I'm standing on top of the motherfucking hundred grand
|
They took a shot, airball
|
You think I give a fuck about you pussies, not at all
|
|
-----------------
|
No Hands
|
| Yelawolf |
