Get ’Em Off Me

By Lil Wayne

On The Suffix

Released on October 1, 2005

Thumbnail

[Chorus]

That mac-10 will get them off me

Head shots, he still talking


[Verse 1]

You try to run up on Lil Wayne, I let you hold the slug

The can opener, will make your jug open up

I'm probably in the crib—baking up, rolling up

'Cause I'm a nut wit' the coke, call me coconut

Bet I smack 'em wit' the tooly, tell 'em straighten up

I'm from the murder capital, you niggas baby butt

You baby mutts get the fuck, I ain't a dog

I'm a Boss Hogg, shout out to Slim Thugga'

Pussy's spraying, that's a shot to ya brim youngin'

I'm so Cash Money, right out the rim brotha

Not out to get nothing but bread, I said I am

Not out to get nothing but bread, I said I

Slide out the whip, looking like a million bucks

Don't touch, bet this fucking full clip fill ya up

Hollygrove in this bitch blocka block

Make the chef pull the stove off the hip, cook 'em up


[Chorus]

That mac-10 will get them off me

Head shots, he still talking


[Verse 2]

If I was to let the barrel spin

None of you niggas be standing

I pull this burner out my drawers

You gonna piss in ya panties

On the block as a younging

I was working that jelly

Knew fat niggas kept bundles under their belly

I'm a motherfucking Young Money

A motherfucking Cash Money

Millionaire, Cash money Machiavelli

They say dress to kill, but I look better at it

Ready for anything, it's covered like spaghetti

I'm a nice young d-boy, baby

I digest your man like a t-bone, baby

Keep on I got the heat on 80

At 90 I'm shooting, at 100 I'm blazin'

Concrete jungle, the wild-life pavement

That's my life, my life, my life baby

Don't get caught up in the twilight craze

Or you'll be just another highlight baby


[Chorus]

That mac-10 will get them off me

Head shots, he still talking


[Verse 3]

Before I had my aim

I still had a pistol

Missing ya whole chest

Hitting ya whole temple

Like 95, 96 getting it in the rental

So short I had to sit on a pillow

Let the whole quaker sit on the griddle

Cook 'em up and shoot 'em out like missiles

Boot 'em up and call 'em out like bitches

They ain't nothing but bitches

They ain't fucking with this shit

They swinging and missing

My angle is different, they ain't seeing me

Look into my eyes, that's the windows to my soul

See the G in me, long hair, all black like Eazy-E

Little nigga got smack like the DVD

Click-clack sound sweet to me

Pap-pap, you look asleep to me (What you saying?)

Click-clack sound sweet to me

Pap-pap, you look 'sleep to me

Good night


[Chorus]

That mac-10 will get them off me

Head shots, he still talking