[Intro]
I don't like the look of it

[Verse 1: Gudda Gudda]
Okay, I'm sippin' on the syrup, got a n***a movin' slow
I'm all about the money, what the fuck you think I do it for?
Bitch, don't act like you don't know, I'm killin' all these rap n***as
Custom made caskets for yo' motherfuckin' funeral
Keep the women with me, shit, I gotta keep like two or more
Party everyday, like we won the fuckin' Super Bowl
Chillin' with my n***a Mack, he keep bitches handy
White girl on the table, let 'em sniff the nose candy
When I'm walkin' by, the women sayin', "Who is that n***a?"
I replied, "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda, that n***a!"
I was raised in the home of the cap splitters
Whip on 24's, watch it crawl like a caterpillar
I come with a toy, boy, like a Happy Meal
And you's a motherfuckin' duck, Daffy-dil
I'm from the school of hard knocks where we scrap and kill
Pick the knife or gun or you can get the package deal
I'm hot, n***a, burnin' everything around me
I was lost for a minute, took a while, but I found me (Gudda)
The streets say I'm king but the game'll never crown me (Gudda)
Realest n***a doin' it, just ask them n***as 'round me (Gudda)
So you can't size me up or try to clown a—
Shark in the water, jump in and I'ma drown you
New Orleans n***a, gun out, I'ma down you
Put n***as to sleep like a muh'fuckin' downer (Gudda)
I'm a Great White, you's a flounder
Fish and a bitch, I tuna eveything around you
U-Haul Gudda, movin' everything around you (Yeah)
It's Young Money, bitch! At the top is where they found us, n***a
[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]
Uh, goons on deck, Marley don't shoot 'em
Silence on the gun, watch a n***a mute 'em
The coach in the booth, call me Jon Gruden
School these n***as, they all my students
All jokes aside, I ain't playin' with ya
The weed broke down like a transmission
The chopper spin him 'round, like a ballerina
Bitch, I'm still spittin' like I ate a jalape-na
I'm from uptown, my bitch from Argentina
My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena
Stunt so hard, it's all y'all fault
And when it come to beef, give me A1 Sauce
I ain't worryin' 'bout shit, everything paid out
You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade house
With a high, yellow, thick bitch with her legs out
Cash Money president, but we in a red house
Who the fuck want it? Make my fuckin' day
I blow your candles out, now, n***a, cut the cake
I gotta eat, bitch! Like a runaway
Y'all n***as ain't eatin', stomach ache
Okay, all these bitches and n***as still hatin'
I used to be ballin', but now I'm Bill Gate-in'
Fuckin' with my iPhone, bumpin' Illmatic
I'm on the road to riches, there's just a lil' traffic
Hair still platted, thuggin' is a habit
Keep my guitar, hip hop Lenny Kravitz
Bunch of bad bitches and I fuck 'em like rabbits
Dope dick Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, uh