Muthaf*cka Up lyrics

by

Busta Rhymes


[Verse 1: Tyga]
YMCMB, rawest n*ggas doing it
School for the blind, I don't see these n*ggas doing it
I’m doing it and doing it and doing it well
n*ggas wanna test me boy, who wanna fail?
Hit you like a bully b*tch, yeah saved by the bell
If you scared, go to church I’ll see you in hell
And your girl, she a flip, give me heads or tails
Everybody fake so I got real for sale
Gunpowder fill the air
Rappers sh*ttin’ on theyself, you could smell the fear
And these b*tches laying flowers cause the king is near
T-Raw this is the new flavour in ya ear
n*ggas softer than baby hair
Why you acting tough, heard you work at Build-A-Bear
I’m a dealer all my girls come in deuce and pairs
I’m in the building I construct so crank this muthaf-cker up
What the funk you beezy’s want
I’m ready to hump the car I call it ele-phunk
Trunk in the front
Man she give me good brain till she feel dumb
I just keep going like the bunny till I feel numb
Yeah these b*tches want it
I put my man’s on it
That 110 Sup’, and that Ferrari California
n*ggas want beef, call me Tony Roma
You potatoes on the sofa
Lazy motherf*ckers, why you ain't even try yet?
Rich or die trying, why you n*ggas ain't died yet?
Wings tattoo yeah forever on some fly sh*t
And I’m with the business, get (pyoom!) with a tied clip
Stay on the flight yeah I’ma trip
Probably up in Paradise chillin like Parliaments
Flow got a boner, you could say I’m on some harder sh*t
Bout to make the speaker buss’
[Hook]
(Crank this muthaf*cka up)

[Verse 2: Nicki Minaj]
Okay, really, I get money
I get money like a b*tch
She ain't going nowhere but swear that b*tch a trip
You see how the diamonds get to dancing
Yeah, ya money short, get some pants and sh*t
I be with a n*gga with a big ol’ di*k
Yeah I like them balls you be shooting them bricks
f*ck you in the game for?
b*tch we up three-zip and it's Game 4
Tell ‘em listen, couple bad b*tches’s
Out in Kingston kicking up bricks and sh*t
Intervention b*tch I pay ya pension
Oh you say what? I don’t pay attention
Yeah these n*ggas want it
I put my b*tches on it
You know the tattoos got Nicki initials on it
I put the pus*y on ‘em, cook ‘em a pot roast
Then pull off in the Ghost
b*tch I do the most

[Verse 3: Tyga]
What the funk you beezy’s want?
It ain't your turn, better have my money
Friday like Big worm
Can’t see you n*ggas, you like a little germ
b*tches know I’m excellent like Mr. Burns
See my di*k like butter churn
Baby churn and ya girl with me fo’shure
That ain't your concern
She forgot about her man, she will never learn
On a mic 'til I die, RIP Chick Hearn
Yessir, colder than the Pittsburgh winter
Fresher than a Will Smith T-Shirt
Disperse coming through Last King and a hearse
Ask later, shoot first, got shooters like Dirk
When it hurts leave you losers bruised up
Bruce Lee nunchucks
Toe from the floor up though
Duck, rubber duck now you like oh shucks
Tell the neighbours I don’t give a f*ck
[Hook]
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