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Yeah, now what it do you know it's Weezy F. the fuckin boss |
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inside that Phantom bitch so big I prolly get lost |
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how bout that exhaust, and my funky cold medina |
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I make that hoe tip toe like a ballerina |
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I'm the ~Miami fever~, in that ~Miami Heat~ |
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I been in Miami water, I'm like a ~Florida Marlin~ |
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But I come from New Orleans nigga we still strong |
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and my money real long, real real real long |
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and this my thirteenth year, bitch I'm still goin' |
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so my money real long, real real real long |
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Nigga that steel on, red beam safety y'all |
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Murder scene tape it off, red rum, tomato sauce |
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niggaz say they paper boys, but bitch I be wit caper boys |
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I say we be burnin bodies, we dont be burnin cars |
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and I got a bitch wit me, call her "Miss Without Drawers" |
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When I'm at the bank, you could call me "Mr. Withdraws" |
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If you want it I'ma bring it let Diana Ross sing it |
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I'ma pull it I'ma bang it that's that Nina Ross singin' |
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I be weighin a block up wit that Rick Ross bangin' |
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If you try me I reverse ya, now you Kriss Kross swangin' yeah |
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Whip soft top seats off leather feet prop |
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Heat cocked, somethin on my neck look like a peacock |
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you need not, talk that street hop to me Ak' cause we bought |
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Like thousand dollar bottles of that Chris Rock |
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bitch stop trippin' I been hot, when not |
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I been threw away what they just got |
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and niggaz talk shit but when I see em they lips lock |
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bitch bop, know I got that ooo wop griplock, get shot |
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bitch I bet I'm hustlin' when ya nigga not |
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Bigger appetite, bigger pot, EAT |
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Call it what you want, but baby just dont call the cops |
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let em chase that drop, I'ma chase that guap |
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yeah, race track jacket wit the race track loc's |
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yeah all black Maserati taste that smoke |
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I'ma crack that egg open, beat that yolk |
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Let it soak let it soak watch it come back broke yeah |
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then I hit the streets up and talk that talk |
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let it float let it float, never come back broke, naw |
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run that shit, I'm cash money's bread and butter no sugar |
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bring me all the beef, I'm the motherfuckin' pressure cooker |
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Yeah, yeah, I could change the weather for ya |
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lose ya ass, the neighbors tell em that they never saw ya |
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close ya mouth it'd be better for ya |
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all that snitchin like the cops got a medal for ya |
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I'ma hustler, got work hoes and metal for ya |
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when ya think ya ready I'll be ready for ya, bitch Yeah WEEZY |
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Dedication 2 |
