Lil Wayne – Shooter (feat. Robin Thicke) Lyrics

Lil Wayne – Shooter (feat. Robin Thicke) Lyrics
Shooter
Lil Wayne (feat. Robin Thicke)
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    Shooter Album Art
    "Shooter." - Lil Wayne (feat. Robin Thicke)

    Album: Like Father, Like Son (Deluxe Edition)
    Track No: 25
    Yeah, yeah, yeah, haha
    Weezy baby, y'all
    Don't get shot
    Rapid fire
    What you know 'bout it?
    I brought my homie along for the ride
    He strapped
    He came ready to come out the barrel
    Rah!
    I heard some shouts like "Down on the floor!"
    Then even louder, "We got shooters, shooters!"
    I turned around, I was starin' at chrome
    Shotgun watches door, got security good
    Jumped right over counter, pointed gun and wink
    He tell her, "I'm your shooter, shooter, shooter!"
    My hands up, my hands up
    They want me with my hands up, no
    Shooter
    My hands up, my hands up
    They want me with my hands up, no
    Shooter
    Get it! Yeah
    So many doubt 'cause I come from the South
    But when I open up my mouth, all bullets come out
    Bang
    Die, bitch ****, die, I hope you bleed a lake
    I'ma play X-ray, helpin' y'all see the fake
    I'm just tryna be the great, tryna get a piece of cake
    Take it off of your plate, eat it right in your face
    They got a whole lot to say, but I don't listen
    Call me Automatic Weezy, bitch, I keep spittin'
    Pow
    With all these riches and all these riches (Yeah)
    But ain't no loaners around (What you say?)
    They thinkin' 'bout shooters, they
    Shooters (Okay)
    Guns, girls (Okay)
    Ladies (Okay)
    Guns (Okay)
    Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shooter, yeah (Okay, come on)
    (Mama, I think they, hey) Hands up
    They want me with my hands up, no (I think they want me to surrender)
    Shooter (Clap, y'all)
    No, no
    But I'm not
    I just cry, "Mama, I tink dey," hey
    "Me tink dey want me to surrender"
    Shooter
    Hey, and to the radio stations, I'm tired of bein' patient
    Stop being rapper racists, region haters
    Spectators, dictators, behind-door dick takers, it's outrageous
    You don't know how sick you make us
    I wanna throw up like chips in Vegas
    But this is Southern, face it
    If we too simple, then y'all don't get the basics
    Lady walks into a shotgun surprise
    Dropped to her knees, saw her life 'fore her eyes
    He said, "Bitch is gonna get it, everybody gon' regret it
    I'm your shooter"
    My hands up, my hands up
    They want me with my hands up, no
    Shooter (I try tell you what I am, baby)
    My hands up, my hands up
    They want me with my hands up, no (Sorry, but mi can't surrender, mi won't surrender)
    Shooter (Mi no pretender)
    Socks soakin' wet, I been running, y'all, I reload
    Every hundred yards, I'm comin' forward
    You better know me
    Lil Wayne, just call me Lord
    Hard
    Take pain like Tylenols, raw
    Way past par, far
    I'm some shit you never saw
    I take you to the shootout, baby, win, lose or draw, yeah
    And then they ask who, when, where, how, and
    My reply was simply "Pow!"
    Come on
    Mama, I tink dey, hey
    Me tink dey want me to surrender, no
    No
    I'm sayin'
    Mama, I tink dey, hey
    Me tink dey want me to surrender, no
    No, no, me won't surrender
    No
    No
    I promise no surrender
    I got my burner
    And I'm your shooter

    Writer(s): D. Carter, Robin Thicke, James Gass, Bobby Keys & Robert Daniels.

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