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letra de what's wrong with them - lil' wayne

yo, sb. i think it’s my time…
you know why? my tears have dried,
and i know that no weapon formed
against me will prosper. and i truly
believe that my haters are my motivaters.
young money.

if you could you would get rid of me,
f-ck you gone do when a b-tch try to go hard?
bet i won’t let you get to me (to me)
you should already figure i’m a go hard.
if you was as real as me you would never
let another girl sit in yo throne.
i done flipped the trunk on her,
they screamin, “nicki leave me alone! ”
i am, i’m still the one to beat.
ain’t in a rush from these streets
i am the streets. i am gettin it in until the end
i gotta go, go, gooo, go hard!

carter called, lemme get the car key, you don’t want it with
the harajuku barbie
keep a marquis, everything sparkly (man down!) hit em on a
walkie-talkie.
hit em, hit em knock-knock, tell em let me in. my name ring
bells b-tch buzz me in
and i only stop for pedestrians, or a real real bad lesbian.
hit em with the mac, hit em with the tec 9, hit em with the
ruger by the inters-x line. hit em with a tommy so my n-gg-s call me kimmy
and i always the jammy in the trunka of the lamby[? ]
put my whole burrough on my back and i’m gooda, i don’t wanna
hear what you would, what you coulda
i represent all the girls that stood up, used to drink water with
a little bit of sugar.
now i’m in the gym with my squats and my sit-ups, doin the
scissor-leg on the mat with my foot up.
young black pin-up, all of my b-tches did up, now i’m tellin
la reid to step his bid up.
and i’m tellin president carter he picked a winner, b-tches
like nelly and kelly got a dilemma
these birds all fly south in the winter, f-ck i look like
chompin on a chicken dinner?
you can hate me, but why knock my hustle; i’m a be a queen
no matter how they shuffle
skirts with the ruffle, louis on the duffle. i’m a bad b-tch
no muscle. (no muscle).
b-tches is softer than al dente, cut from a different kenta.
tell em i’m the ninja,
weezy is my sensei. so i call him splinter, faster than a sprinter.
gimme my chopsticks
i’ll have the rap b-tches for dinner.
this is for my gentlemen in b-tton-ups and khakis
this is for my n-gg- 7-up in castaki
this is for my n-gg-s wh-llying them kawasakis
shout out to the back-east, south ishakis
this is to my fans, unless i’m feeling kinda c-cky.
winter wonderland is on my hand, it’s kinda rocky.
i am nicki, minaj or lewinski.
pumps on the clutch, right hand on the six-speed.
write my own raps i gotta go, i gotta get me (gotta get me.)
oohhh!

if you could you would get rid of me,
f-ck you gone do when a b-tch try to go hard?
bet i won’t let you get to me (to me)
you should already figure i’m a go hard.
if you was as real as me you would never
let another girl sit in yo throne.
i done flipped the trunk on her,
they screamin, “nicki leave me alone! ”
i am, i will, i gots to win.
i’m still lookin around for my
com-pe-t-tion. i am gettin it in until the end
i gotta go, go, gooo, go hard!

from slap-and-cry you start to die, so i must go harder.
gotta make these b-tches know me just like vibe and no water.
better yet, like bubba, no shrimp. but he don’t say sh-t
when the gun on his lip, and i don’t say sh-t put the gun
on my hip. so i don’t say sh-t but the gun on my hip.
if you don’t wanna drown don’t come on my ship
check out how them b-tches just run on my d-ck
and me, i’m that just a summa b-tch.
i still got that b-tch c-m on my lips
it yee ain got money, don’t come on my strip
and if ya got money, don’t cover my strip
i wear that metal, no olympic, but i can still
make you tumble and flip
you f-ckin with me if you f-ckin with nick
it ain’t f-ckin with me it ain’t f-ckin with nick
your girlfriend, her descision is split
cause she wanna f-ck me and she wanna f-ck nick
they wonder if he be f-ckin nick, as long as she be f-ckin rich
that’s why i keep my le b-tch[? ] cause, i swear ya’ll’s a f-ckin trip.
young money dungeon, b-tch. my swagger just punch a b-tch
and i shoot like i’m from over-seas, so call my gun, “gunovich”
weezy f. baby and the “f” is for a bunch of sh-t
red drank, blue pill, white dust
yes i love my country b-tch.

(yeah!… guitar.)

wish you could get rid of young money,
f-ck you gone do when a b-tch try to go hard?
bet i won’t let you get to me (to me)
you should already figure i’m a go hard.
if you was as real as me you would never
let another girl sit in yo throne.
i done flipped the trunk on her,
they screamin, “nicki leave me alone! ”
i am, i will, i gots to win.
i’m still lookin around for my
com-pe-t-tion. i am gettin it in until the end
i gotta go, go, gooo, go hard!

- lil wayne

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