[Produced by DJ Don Cannon]
[Intro: Lil Wayne, DJ Drama, & DJ drops]
Yeah
AMG's the gang!
Dedication 2
Drama
Pay attention! (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
[Verse 1: Lil Wayne, DJ Drama, & DJ drops]
Howdy-do, motherfuckers, it's Weezy Baby
Niggas bitching and I gotta tote the (My nigga Don Cannon!)
Haha! Listen close, I got duct tape and rope (Oh!)
I leave you missing like the fucking O'bannons
One hand on my money, one hand on my buddy
That's the AK-47, make his neighborhood love me
Bullets like birds, you can hear them bitches humming
Don't let that bird shit, he got a weak stomach
Niggas know I'm sick: I don't spit, I vomit—got it?
One egg short of the omelet
Simon says: "Shoot a nigga in his thigh and leg
And tell him, 'Catch up,' like mayonnaise"; um—
I'm the sickest nigga doing it—bet that, baby
These other niggas dope; I'm wet crack, baby, yes!
Get back, get back, boy, this a setback
Clumsy-ass niggas slip and fall into a death trap
Rest assure, I rest in an Azure
Me and my chauffeur got a (Cannon!)
Sometimes I gotta let my girl hold the (Cannon!)
I think I'm 'bout to put some pearl on the (Cannon!)
Yeah, and guess what, boy?
You know a n— just got papers on the (Cannon!)
And I just got off paper for the (Cannon!)
Now I do good [?] with this (Cannon!), what you on?
Them boys pussy, born without a backbone
And if you strapped, we can trade like the Dow Jones
Wet him up, I hope he got his towel on
I aim at the moon, and get my howl on
Some niggas cry wolf, I'm on that dry kush
And when it come to that paper, I stack books ha
You heard what I said
I can put you on your feet or put some money on ya head
Life ain't cheap, you better off dead if you can't pay the fee
Shout out my nigga Fee
See, every motherfucker at the door don't get a key
You're outside looking in, so tell me what you see
It's about money, it's bigger than me
I told my homies, "Don't kill him, bring the nigga to me" (Gangsta!)
Yeah, don't miss, you fucking with the hitman
Kidnap a nigga, make him feel like a kid again
[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
Straight up, I ain't got no conversation for you
Nigga, talk to the (Cannon!)
Yeah, have a few words with the (Cannon!)
Yeah, tell it to my motherfucking (Cannon!)
Yeah, straight up, I ain't got no conversation for you
Nigga, talk to the (Cannon!)
Yeah, have a few words with the (Cannon!)
Nigga, tell it to my motherfucking (Cannon!)
[Verse 2: Freeway]
From Philly to where I'm landing, I'm a (Cannon!)
And I'm on that Philly fighting shit, and I come fully equipped
You try me, get bodied, keep Nina and shotty in the whip
If a nigga try to stick me, I'ma blam him
Sing along now—"Di-di-dadi," I'm Free, got the burners
Got the green, he got the tan, got the whole enchilada
Owe me dough, I'm inside of your house, tie up your brother (Woo)
Make the prick call up your mother (Ugh), she might know where to find you, I am—
On top of my job, the heavyweight champ with the flow
It's flow like the ocean, open water, you're drowning, I will (Damn)
Four-pound him and seek him, heat him, then leave him stinking (Yuh)
Sharks surround him and eat him, nice to know him, I will— (Yeah)
Roll over your squad like I'm "One-Punch" Carr
You chumps, you best call General Motors, I will— (Ugh)
Take control of your soldiers, you won't miss 'em
'Til I toss em in the wok like chicken, General Tso, uh-oh!
[Verse 3: Willie the Kid]
I make it hard for rap niggas, I'm peer pressure (Yes)
Matter of fact I'm motivation to rap better (Yes)
I show niggas how to act, how to dress better
I stay fresh, more fitted caps than bad catchers (Woo)
I'm the crack, the smack, the gun, the rule
The gat, the strap, the gun, the tool
The motherfucking (Cannon!)
Other words, I'm the real, for real
We can go check for check or bill for bill
We can go chick for chick or skill for skill
The deal is sealed (Yes)
Niggas ain't real as Will, 'cause I'm a (Cannon!)
And I handle well, pedal like Cannondale
And I got the 50-cal' mag, its a handheld (Cannon!)
I'm telling you niggas, I pop, put a shell in you niggas (Oh)
My nice watch'll Helen Keller you niggas (Oh, oh)
I got whores in the Canon camcorder bendin' over
Blowing 'ghan by the quarter, weed odor in the Rover, nigga
[Verse 4: Detroit Red]
Yeah (Cannon!)
Detroit Red getting change like them white folks (Ha)
Dump it out the window of the Range with the rifle (Ha)
Pain like a bitch like the first day of a cycle (Ha)
You better scurry when I pull the (Cannon! Ha)
Tracks burn the streets like a truck do the gas
I love head and caressing a voluptuous ass (What else?)
I ask ya baby mama is she up to the task
She like "Damn Red, it's bigger than a (Cannon!)"
My attire makes the ladies say, "Your man is too fly" (What else?)
Imported oils from Iran and Dubai (What else?)
Get caught slipping with your mans, and you die
Where I'm from, niggas be quick to squeeze the (Cannon! Ha)
Detroit Red always got some shit for your ears
Show me love, but keep it moving, man, 'cause if you get near (Ha)
I'll say, "Get off my dick" and tell your bitch to come here
'Cause you sweating me and my DJ, Don (Cannon!)
[Verse 5: Juice]
Legs spread far out, you know how I'm standing
Yeah, I'm posted with the big homie (Cannon! Ha)
I got niggas who don't like rap loving our shit
We got niggas who was stuck on Pac bumping our shit
These niggas can't see me like I ain't been around lately
A good batter; when they at the mound, it's gravy
Niggas salty, I'm pepper, no Spinderella
Just a cigarillo filled with Tropicana
Yeah, Vic found that lick; now, we ain't smoking no more regular
Keep your mid-grade, I don't think you know no better
They loved "In Da Trunk"; now, they wanna hear more shit
I play it modest, like, "Nigga, that's some of our old shit"
Got niggas I ain't never met wanting to fight me
Got hoes that's in love, asking, "Why you don't like me?"
Bitch, I'm married to the game, and I love my wifey
Stepping over competition, man, I love these Nikes (Yeah)
I'm hot, they fanning
Niggas try to copy my style like the (Cannon! Ha)
Don't try to compare—I'm in a league of my own
If I ain't listed at the top, nigga, the stats is wrong
All the data is off, your info ain't valid
Artist of the century, the competition ain't balanced
True, like Master P and his two brothers
Don't call it incest, but Juice the motherfucker, like— geah!
[Outro: DJ Drama]
This what I'ma do!
From here on out, you can call me Mr. Game Seven!
Oh, yeah!
That was just preseason!
You thought we was playing for real?
