Lil Wayne, Mack Maine - Open Shop lyrics
Lil Wayne [Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.] New Orleans, Louisiana, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Lil Wayne, Mack Maine - Open Shop lyrics]
Yeah, get ‘em off the floor
Take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Hustle to get rich
The only thing lesser than O’s is Mike Vick’s
That’s 7 grams for you fools who ain’t hip
Y’all don’t understand grindin’
Homie we ain’t closin’ shop
We steady reing up
Everything a G and up, nigga stop stressing
All you need bakin’ soda, 7-Up
Doin’ pills to stretch it
That’s just a little lesson
I hope y’all listenin’
If not I’m the manager
I could throw some pitchers in
Look at what I’m whippin’ in
760 big body, block still doin’ 40
Weezy gave me 60
Now I workin’ with a hundred
Bagged up, dope money
Bitch keep the stove runnin’
I’m the pilot, standin’ over the pilot
Cook it up in an hour, standing over Chicago
Yeah, nigga, we open 24 hours, y’all closin’
Holla at ya boy, yeah
Get ‘em off the floor, take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Been the Hollygrove’s Hannibal
Was Carrollton’s cannibal
The Apple Street animal
Good thing the boot ain’t flammable
Cut through ya cantaloupe
And then I stab you with the antlers from an
Antelope and vanish in some grams of coke
I’m sick with the hustle and
Coke is my antidote
I’m sick with the scuffle
I jab at ya mammy’s throat
I grab that thing-thing and then
I blam-blam ya folk
And then I cruise off in Tanner’s boat, haha
Shhh, haha nigga, feel my breezy
Feel my Timbs and feel my
G’s and feel my trees
Feel my movement, feel my
People, feel my sequel, inject these needles
This is drug music
This that Rock & Roll, Hip-Hop, thug music
Heart missin’, no love music, get used to it
See this the next generation
We smash daughters
Smoke and drank tap water
Ride out and jack quarters
But not the type of quarters
That you use for Pac-Man
The type to get the stacks fam
Serve it to the trash man
My niggas is riders
We ride out in black vans with gats in
Our black hands in all black fam
My past is my future
I’m livin’ like it’s ‘88
Chopper had to scrape the plate
Just to cop the Bathing Apes
You know me nigga, I double up, back-to back
Why you fake hustlers can’t stack a stack
Young Money, chea
Yeah, brown table round table
I break a brick down
I’m the ant pile creator
Gats ‘round the table, gats on the table
Smokin’ on that purple, sippin’ on that maple
That’s syrup for the splizzo
The service never slow though
Even though I drink a ounce
And smoke a ounce, fo’ shizzle
I am Wizzle, mothafucker
Hundred long in the attic
50 large on my pinky, 20 hard, I’m in traffic
I find a skinny broad so I can pack it
Put the hard in her bra and
The soft in her panties
And then I flow off to Miami
Cops think we in Atlant-y
And she in Lousiana
Yeah, that’s Lil Weezy Ana
Uptown Hot Boy, red bandanna
We open up shop boy, the scale’s handheld
Put it in the window, it’s on sale
Get ‘em off the floor, take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We got-we got DVLP on the beat, This the
This the mixtape it’s for the-it’s for the
It’s for the dope boys
It’s for the dope girls
Yeah, we must unite as one
Hustler music, that’s right
Hey, they go for 10 where I’m from!
And that ain’t even drought prices, baby
You ain’t hear about the Birdman? Woah
I’m tired of always stuntin’ on these niggas
Aye turn that shit down, my nigga
Aye, aye, aye
I heard-I heard in the Chi’ it’s-it’s
Kind of up the steep
Heard them prices steep, load up daddy
Make more money that way, trust me
S’why I’m down south pimp
Take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Hustle to get rich
The only thing lesser than O’s is Mike Vick’s
That’s 7 grams for you fools who ain’t hip
Y’all don’t understand grindin’
Homie we ain’t closin’ shop
We steady reing up
Everything a G and up, nigga stop stressing
All you need bakin’ soda, 7-Up
Doin’ pills to stretch it
That’s just a little lesson
I hope y’all listenin’
If not I’m the manager
I could throw some pitchers in
Look at what I’m whippin’ in
760 big body, block still doin’ 40
Weezy gave me 60
Now I workin’ with a hundred
Bagged up, dope money
Bitch keep the stove runnin’
I’m the pilot, standin’ over the pilot
Cook it up in an hour, standing over Chicago
Yeah, nigga, we open 24 hours, y’all closin’
Holla at ya boy, yeah
Get ‘em off the floor, take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Been the Hollygrove’s Hannibal
Was Carrollton’s cannibal
The Apple Street animal
Good thing the boot ain’t flammable
Cut through ya cantaloupe
And then I stab you with the antlers from an
Antelope and vanish in some grams of coke
I’m sick with the hustle and
Coke is my antidote
I’m sick with the scuffle
I jab at ya mammy’s throat
I grab that thing-thing and then
I blam-blam ya folk
And then I cruise off in Tanner’s boat, haha
Shhh, haha nigga, feel my breezy
Feel my Timbs and feel my
G’s and feel my trees
Feel my movement, feel my
People, feel my sequel, inject these needles
This is drug music
This that Rock & Roll, Hip-Hop, thug music
Heart missin’, no love music, get used to it
See this the next generation
We smash daughters
Smoke and drank tap water
Ride out and jack quarters
But not the type of quarters
That you use for Pac-Man
The type to get the stacks fam
Serve it to the trash man
My niggas is riders
We ride out in black vans with gats in
Our black hands in all black fam
My past is my future
I’m livin’ like it’s ‘88
Chopper had to scrape the plate
Just to cop the Bathing Apes
You know me nigga, I double up, back-to back
Why you fake hustlers can’t stack a stack
Young Money, chea
Yeah, brown table round table
I break a brick down
I’m the ant pile creator
Gats ‘round the table, gats on the table
Smokin’ on that purple, sippin’ on that maple
That’s syrup for the splizzo
The service never slow though
Even though I drink a ounce
And smoke a ounce, fo’ shizzle
I am Wizzle, mothafucker
Hundred long in the attic
50 large on my pinky, 20 hard, I’m in traffic
I find a skinny broad so I can pack it
Put the hard in her bra and
The soft in her panties
And then I flow off to Miami
Cops think we in Atlant-y
And she in Lousiana
Yeah, that’s Lil Weezy Ana
Uptown Hot Boy, red bandanna
We open up shop boy, the scale’s handheld
Put it in the window, it’s on sale
Get ‘em off the floor, take ‘em out the box
Turn on the stove, set ‘em in a pot
Don’t forget the jar
Whip ‘em ‘till they hard
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
Put the sign up baby, we are never closed
Yes, we’re open, we are never closed
We about to open up a mothafuckin’ store
We got-we got DVLP on the beat, This the
This the mixtape it’s for the-it’s for the
It’s for the dope boys
It’s for the dope girls
Yeah, we must unite as one
Hustler music, that’s right
Hey, they go for 10 where I’m from!
And that ain’t even drought prices, baby
You ain’t hear about the Birdman? Woah
I’m tired of always stuntin’ on these niggas
Aye turn that shit down, my nigga
Aye, aye, aye
I heard-I heard in the Chi’ it’s-it’s
Kind of up the steep
Heard them prices steep, load up daddy
Make more money that way, trust me
S’why I’m down south pimp