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Nicki Minaj - Click Clack lyrics

A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was told only reach for the heat if you (bang)
So when I lift the shirt, that's the end of discussion
Click clack motherfuckers, I ain't trynna hear that

[Verse 1: Nicki Minaj]
They call me Nicholas, style defined as ridiculous
I beg your pardon, meet me at the Garden
Number one draft, I'm New York's pick and -
I don't lose like them dudes, on the New York Knicks
(Check it), I'm overseas, rocking hella capris - I'm in the
West Indies, eatin' delicacies - I tell 'em
They want Kane like Erica? Please
Brotha your money young, like that nigga Jeezy
These broke rappers, always rappin' 'bout a pink truck
I'm only happy, when I'm hoppin' out the Brinks truck
And I don't need a sixteen, I got a sentence
I goes in on a fucker, like an entrance
These old bitches, better change they dentures
When I get in the game, they gon' play the benches
Fuck your friendship, pay attention
Bitch get at me? I'mma pay my henchmen


[Verse 2: Nicki Minaj]
They call me Maraj,fuck you, and fuck your -
Squad, head bitch in charge, I ain't talkin' bout the Taj
I'm on the other line, I ain't talkin' bout call waitin'
I'm VIP lil' mama, I just walk straight in
Lil' Dolce & Gabbana got this broad hatin'
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That's why I pop up in the Porsche, with the top vacant
Mami stop fakin', talkin' bout, what? -
You got, you ain't got nathen, and you're not caking
You're not my taste, get out of my face
I play the top, like eight friends on your Myspace
Stay in a child's place, check the timin'
I rock bitches, like they throwin' up the diamonds
(It's the Roc!) You on a flight, I be bakin' on islands
Mami, your accent sounds faker than Dylan
Murder 'dem, murder 'dem
Fuck a competition, already murdered them


[Verse 3: Nicki Minaj]
They call me Nicki M, hard to find me in a sticky ben
I play the club with a thug, and some pretty friends (What up!?)
And if they ain't got the gat, they got the knife on (Yes sir!)
You're too wack, to get up on one of my songs (Whoop!)
You got a deal, cause you was givin' up the coochie, prolly (Uhn!)
But I'll arrange one hit, like "Oochie Wally" (Uhn!)
(Gone 'til November) And you'll be gone 'til November, like Wyclef ("You'll be gone, 'til November")
I hold weight and I ain't talkin' bout biceps
I rep Queens like a crown, when I'm in the -
Town, ask Yung Joc, "It's Goin' Down" (Yes!)
Kisses to my bitches, and my niggas, get a pound
June, turn me up, (Mic check!) How I sound?
Bitches don't know the half, like they flunked that math
Give a fuck about a bitch, and the clique she with
Unless, you doin' them numbers, like arithmetic
Young Nick, holla back and turn up my shit


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