Look Like My Mama Lyrics – AZ Chike

Read the full Look Like My Mama lyrics by AZ Chike along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song. If you enjoy Az Chike’s music, you can also explore Hateful + Ungrateful and Rock Bottom, two other songs by Az Chike.

[Intro: Tyler, The Creator]
Yeah (One, two, three, let’s go)

[Verse 1: Tyler, The Creator]
B!tch, I look just like my mama
Tick-tick, time to heat it up like a sauna
Your negro hit cha-cha, lil’ dance like La Bamba
Thumper might drop if I stomp in these Converse
Why are you mad, lil’ b!tch? Get some commas
Pitty-pat pockets looking celiac, kitty fat
Ayy, Chike, bro, let’s bring the city back
Really that guy (Hmm), what he really on?
S*it, for now, call me Mr. Hundred Million, goddamn

[Verse 2: AZ Chike]
Bet a b!tch get tired before I stop throwing money
B!tch, this thugging in my veins, don’t need it tatted on my stomach
Dawg call it pita bread, big bag, I mean hummus
Never stress about a b!tch, I re-up in three months
Thеn I take one step back and tеn forward
I let n!ggas copy me, copy that, 10-4
Hoes sent, send the text, these hoes weak, send more, n!gga (One, two, three, let’s go)

[Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator]
B!tch, I’m sorry, snuck it in the party
Said you’re getting guap, n!ggas lying like safari
Hate when a bird ask questions, like, “What are we?”
Got me running with that long stick in hand like Sha’Carri (Uh)
P-noid, I don’t play ’round
Brodie said he’ll swing and slide for me, he a playground (Ayy, ayy, ayy)
B!tch, I’m too rich to use a Zelle or a PayPal
I stuff so many b!tches in the Rolls, s*it a Greyhound (Hm)

[Verse 4: AZ Chike & Tyler, The Creator]
I dot my Is but I’ll never cross my n!gga T (N!gga)
They just staring ’cause they scared, you know how n!ggas be
You hitting send on a Tweet, n!gga, hit the streets

I wake up and thank God for making me what I’m meant to be
I don’t even play fair, n!ggas know what’s up
Catch a opp in the club, might blow it up
I’m from the land, where you from? N!gga, throw it up (One, two, three, let’s go)

[Verse 5: Tyler, The Creator]
Ayy, ayy, baby, I’m the keyboard killer
Baby, I’m the keyboard killer, tour seat filler
Mr. New Ting in the G4 with her
Big feet, big league, you’s a D4 n!gga
Me and Jasper, the purple and gold floor sitter
Errybody sitting front row ain’t a fan
Errybody that you cool with ain’t ya mans
N!ggas jealous of me, still shook my momma hand
Fu*k all that business, under ten toes, I stand, n!gga

[Verse 6: AZ Chike]
B!tch, I smell like new money, yeah, sponsor shoe money
In her throat like Throat Coat, tea bags and two honeys
Only do what n!ggas dream of or can’t even imagine
Try to throw me off my pivot but the check say New Balance
Let me loose, huh, let me through
Hopping the fence to the top, T came gave me a boost
N!ggas book, chunk the deuce, I do movies, you do spoofs
Consider this s*it easy math the way I calculate my moves (One, two, three, let’s go)

[Verse 7: Tyler, The Creator]
Ayy, n!gga, CHROMAKOPIA, I had my guard down
Crackers tried to say I only rap about my cars now
I’m the only one who left the block and turned the car ’round
And picked my n!ggas up, sorry if I’m tryna bar out
Stop judging buddy loss if you don’t show him ways of winning
Stop saying “Free the homie” if you know that n!gga did it
Is it ballot or the bullet? ‘Cause I’m voting for the killing
We gon’ burn this b!tch down, put the fire to the ceiling, n!gga, uh

[Verse 8: AZ Chike]
B!tch, you know it’s first Sunday like Katt Williams
Blow her back out out, then I hit while her back healing
Catch ’em out back, backdoor ’em, then I’m back chilling
Weak b!tch, peaked in high school, can’t get back that feeling, uh
Yeah, that’s right, the wanna DAZN, box me in
But I ain’t going without a fight
B!tch, the whip so white, I had to let it read my rights
It be the n!ggas I’m better than saying they can’t see the hype, tough (One, two, three, let’s go)

[Verse 9: Tyler, The Creator]
Ayy, ayy, my mama prayed for me, but I still keep blammer (Yup)
Your b!tch is not bad, you just have low standards
I’m him, bow down, n!gga, where is your manners? (Come on)
When I walk in, phone down, I don’t like cameras (Come on)
If that big fella catch you, I can’t help you
I’m Santa, got a big bag with a elf, too
Two car keys, seven Ms on the belt loop
And I skrrt off, tires smell like I melt boot, big feet

[Verse 10: AZ Chike]
Big Chike, b!tch, I got big d!ck
Your attitude don’t match your pockets, wait a minute, big ick, ugh
Been called the blitz, she turned around, hit stick, ugh
Career on tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, boom
I got way too much confidence for a b!tch
I got way too much chip and dip on a hoe
I got way too much, I can’t keep it on the low, hm
I got way too much, huh, I got way too much