Nicki minaj - Click clack

A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mother fuckers, I ain't trynna hear that

They call me Nicholas, style defined as ridiculous
I beg your pardon, meet me at the garden
One draft, I'm New York's pick
And I don't lose like dem dudes on the New York Knicks (check it)
I'm over seas rockin' hella capris
In the west indies eatin' delicacies
I tell 'em they want cain like Erica, please
Brother your money young like government cheese
Dese broke rappers always rappin' bout a pink truck
I'm only happy wen I hopin' out the bricks truck
And I don't need a 16, I got a sentence
I goes on a fucka like an entrance
Dese old bitches betta change they denture
When I get in the game they gon play the benches
Fuck your friendship, pay attention
Bitch get at me, I'm a pay my henchmen

A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mother fuckers, I ain't trynna hear that


They call me Maraj, fuck you and fuck your squad
Head bitch in charge, I ain't talkin bout the thot
I'm on the other line ain't, I ain't talkin' bout call waitin'
I'm VIP lil mama I just walk straight in
Lil Dolce & Gabanna got this bul hatin'
That's I pop up in the porch with the top vacant
Mami stop fakin', talkin' bout wat you got
You ain't got nathin' and your not cakin'
Your not my taste, get outta my face
I play the top like eight friends on your myspace
Stay in a Childs place check the timin'
I rock bitches like they throwin' up the diamond (it's the rock)
U on a flight, I be bakin' on islands
Mami your accent sound faker den Dylan
Murda dem, murda dem, fuck a competition, already murda dem

A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mother fuckers, I ain't trynna hear that

Dey call me Nicki M., hard to find me in a sticky gin
I play the club, with a thug and sum pretty friends
And if they ain't got the gat, they got the knife on
Your too wack to get up on one of my song
You gotta deal, 'cause you was givin' up the coochie prolly
But I'll arrange one hit like oochie wallie
And you'll be gon to November like Wyclef
I hold weight and I ain't talkin bout Biceps
I rep queens like the crown, when I'm in the town, ask Yung Jock
It's goin' down
Kisses to my bitches and my niggas, getta pound
June, turn me up, mic check?
Bitches don't know the half, like they flucked at math
Give a fuck about a bitch and the clique she with
Unless you doin' dem numbers like arithmetic
Young Nick holla back and turn up my shit

A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mother fuckers, I ain't trynna hear that

Writers:

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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