Ignant Shit lyrics

[Intro: Drake]

Yeah, I appreciate your patience tonight

It's been a moment since I've done some public speaking

I find nowadays it's, you know, best to keep quiet

But, uh, sometimes you just gotta let it out

Young Angel and Young Lion, you know what it is

[Verse 1: Drake]

Look, I'm the property of October

I ain't drive here, I got chauffeured

Bring me champagne flutes, rosé and some shots over

I think better when I'm not sober

I smoke goodie, no glaucoma, I'm a stockholder

Private flights back home, no stop over

Still spittin' that shit that they shot Pac over

The shit my mother look shocked over

Yeah, but with a canvas I'm a group of seven

A migraine, take two Excedrin

I'm the one twice over, I'm the new eleven

And if I die I'm a do it reppin', I never do a second

I swear niggas be eyeing me all hard

And lying to they girls and driving the same cars

Sitting there wishing they problems became ours

‘Cause we have nothing in common since I done became star

I done became bigger swerving writing in my peer's lane

Same dudes that used to holler my engineer's name

One touch I could make the drapes and the sheers change

And show me the city that I without fear claim

What I set seems to never extinguish

Coolest kid out, baby, word to Chuck Inglish

Count my own money, see the paper cut fingers

My song is your girlfriend's waking-up ringer

Heh, or alarm, or whatever

She be here at six in the morn' if I let her

But I never get attracted to fans

‘Cause the eager beaver could be the collapse of a dam

I always knew that I could figure

How to get these label heads to offer him good figures

And me doing them shows

Getting everyone nervous, ‘cause them hipsters gon' have to get along with them hood niggas

It's all good, I'm going off, like lights when the show's over

Make pasta, rent a movie, call hoes over

Rest in peace to Heath Ledger, but I'm no joker

I'll slow roast ya, got no holster

Wet glass on your table, nigga; no coaster

Burn bread everyday, boy; no toaster

G and Tez got a SIG, but I'm no smoker

They just handin' chips to me, nigga; no poker

I'm with it, Young Money, Cash Money soldier

My cup runneth over

The same niggas I ball with I fall with

On some southern drawl shit

Rookie of the year, '06 Chris Paul shit

D-R., CJ, and Po, I see y'all

These cases don't work out I hope we can agree on

Making enough to pay any Judge Judy off

First thing I'm a do is free Weezy, go

[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]

And I'd take probation

I don't want that T.I. and Vick vacation

Private plane, pick location

I'm going to the bank to make a big donation

Yeah, I don't stunt, I stunt hard

And if the food ain't on the stove I hunt for it

But in the meantime you can call me young Roy

Jones Jr. fighting the drugs and gun charge

Shit, don't leave me unguarded

And I'm a cheese head, word to Vince Lombardi

Word to Marky Mark, leave a snitch departed

All that blood like the red sea parted

My gun go crazy, like it's retarded

Red light on it, like it's recording

I ain't recording, I'm just C-4ing

My currency foreign; we are in a league they aren't

Better dig in your pocket and pay homage

Better cover your eyes, your face fallin'

Watch the game from the side, I'm play callin'

No, I didn't say that I'm flawless

But I damn sure don't tarnish

My pistol got comments for your garments

I'm so high I can vomit on a comet

K-y, no homo, I'm on it

Weezy F Baby, new born bitch

You know what they say 'bout when your palm itch

I'm going get money, money I'm gon' get

Young Money in your tummy and we gon' shit

And get that toilet paper quick, like when Bones spit

That's right, bitch, I'm back on my grown shit

That Audemars Piguet, no ice, just chrome shit

And your boyfriend softer than a foam pit

I scream, "Fuck the world with a long dick!"

Motherfucker, I'm me! Yeah, bitch, I'm me!

You niggas sweet, like the pussy in which I eat

Fireman burn down your entire street

So fly I'ma take off when I leap

Bye! Then you can suck my wings

Stand on my money, head butt Yao Ming

Put your hand in the oven if you touch my things

I'm shuffling the cards, 'bout to cut my queens

But I ain't the dealer

House full of bitches, like Tila Tequila

Yeah, I'm the man in the mirror

My swagger just screaming, motherfucker, do you hear her?

Drizzy Drake what the lick read

We make magic, boy; Roy and Siegfried