Look At Me Songtext / Lyric

[Hook]

Bright thing on my hand saying (Look at me)

I got your girl doing a handstand (Look at me)

Cop them 28-inch Birdman's (Check out me)

Y'all dues money to ya

Bright thing on my hand saying (Look at me)

I got your girl doing a handstand (Look at me)

Cop them 28-inch Birdman's (Check out me)

Big thighs with brown-eyes






[Verse 1]

It's Lil Weezy for real

Only Cash Money Hot Boy that stood still

I got a good deal

I'm from a trill hood

I smoke real good

Slide on them skinnies in the bike with an ill hood

Pipes, rally stripes and fog lights

T-shirt white, three stripes with all ice

What that boy name

Birdman junior, huh

Fool was smile but five is so wild

I can smoke a green mile

Got a chrome need a Rolls shined up for you baby

Bling-blow, I rock a throwback Jordan 23

Rolling on hot 23's

Tote a big glock 23

You're looking at the seventeen ward of New Orleans

My block living me

I want you to look hard at some easy money

Stop playing this is Weezy company

Uh-huh



[Hook]



[Verse 2]

I'm the son of Cash Money

The fodd of the squad

And Baby bout to buy me a house in the sky

Cuz I'm so fly

When my feet touch the ground sometimes I gotta ask myself why

Coupe kinda wide but I move sorta quick

Looking for my roof where it went

Mink on the floor big shoes on the bed

Windows are the tint more wood than a bench

Working in the hood more green than the Grinch

Please don't play cuz I'm connected like Sprint

Ladies on the tray popping up the back-end

Peppermint leather with a feather in my brim

It's Lil Weezy

Sucking on my wrist real breezy

And this is what I say when you see me

Look, and leave your broad at home she get took

Cuz I'm a player hold the game by the book



[Hook]



[Verse 3]

Some call me Weezy

But hoes holla look at Lil Wayne

In that booger-green lay like should've been Mace

Sweet, do speak when I should've put trays

Forget it I'ma slam it on bubba-bubba-blaze

So move over what you say shortie

We could do rent pussy

Normally I wouldn't but beating through the Texas

And beating went to the A

Eat with desert fey

But yeah I'm on my way

Cuz I know he got that hay

Hey little mami

You a ghetto fire tin

You come to my post on the island

Come on that chronic

He-he empty vodka bottles

I be high he be drunk that my roll model

I rolls by you with my seat reclining

When I stop rims don't keep spinning they keep shining

Money don't stop keep spinning and keep grinding

Cash Money what you hollering, huh



[Hook]