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It's gravy nigga. believe it. |
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You hot? fuck it. hot as a firecracker. |
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(it's gravy too.) i got a mac in this bag. |
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(click clock) what you got? glock. (look) |
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[baby] |
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Nigga i'ma tell ya straight off the bat |
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I got a mac in this bag with 20 grams of crack |
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And i'ma sit in the back seat of yo' 'lac |
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Just in case i gotta snap, a firette to the chest |
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If i don't know shit, i know cars and broads |
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I done ordered plenty hits and watched heads come off |
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And i done saw my nigga get life behind them bars |
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To them dog hoes, nigga, we scream "fuck 'em all!" |
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I hustle hard in these city streets |
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I got my block on fire with my hb's |
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Spinnin' benz in these drop tops double r |
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Cook a brick, flip 'em up, now i got 'em hard |
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And you can find me |
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Right up in them hallways, holdin' and totin' |
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Got the whole motherfuckin block loaded and smokin' |
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Nigga know one thang: its some uptown shit |
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If a nigga get it fucked, then we killin' a bitch |
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[chorus] |
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Nigga i'ma tell ya this, straight off the bat |
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I got a mac in this bag, with 20 grams of crack |
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Well let's go nigga, see we can slide nigga |
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Cuz if you hot, then i'm hot, let's ride nigga |
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Look, i'ma tell you this, straight off the top |
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I got a blunt, and a glock, and a bag of rocks |
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Let's go nigga, let's slide nigga |
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If you hot, then i'm hot, let's ride nigga |
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[lil wayne] |
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Better pay attention now so you don't forget later |
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I run the damn block, i oversee all of the paper |
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Don't make me take ya, play ya |
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I cock the glock and spray ya |
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Call it a caper, won't be no as-salama-laka |
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And j, he got the gauges, they cocked and ready |
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Make me run up in ya places and pop ya daddy |
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Got them bricks rocked and heavy, let it be known |
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I cook it hard and cut 'em in zones and the money be gone |
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Then i hit a blunt to the dome, and ride when night falls |
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Supply the white raw, if there's a problem, knock ya wife off |
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Lock the spot down |
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Respect it young nigga, i'm creepin' over |
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Now cut it with just a little bakin' soda, breakin' boulders |
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I take it out my holster and bakin' soldiers whenever |
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Nigga it's whatever, tell ya ma to call the reverend |
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You see me on the block with crack, gats, and weed |
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Rats, plats, and ki's, that's practically me |
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Chorus |
|
[lil wayne] |
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See i'm a hustler, cut-throat, put rhymes in mom's muffler |
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You can't even count how many times the 9's bust at ya |
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Some of the, niggas that you run with are, suckas bruh |
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None of ya, won't leave, without some bullets up in ya |
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Niggas can't hold me down, wodie wild |
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Cuz all that they can hear is loud screamin' and explosive sounds |
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They show me how to cook that brown and rock that white |
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No school, put that book back down, pick up that knife |
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See that's the real reason i hate to be on tour |
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I'd rather be back on the block with a bird of that pure |
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Niggas got it all wrong, thinkin' i'm all song |
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But yall gon' twist it and end up all gone |
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Dog-gone cocksuckers, you not thuggers |
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I pop dozens of glocks, cousins, in my struggle |
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So stop frontin', it ain't gon' get ya everywhere |
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I'ma start bustin', and bullets hit ya everywhere |
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Chorus x 2 |
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[baby talks till end] |
