Yeah, straight up D-Boy Seventeenth ward
Miss Katrina turned my city to a seashore
I keep going for them Cohen like Lyor
They gon' either respect me or: E. R Burnin' them bitches like a ci-gar
Punk, put a hump in your back, they called it Igor!
War? This shit is hard, any yard where we are
We call that cocaine rice, I got that Condoleezza
Huh? You fuck with me chump, I rock your teacup
I say before you spend a dollar boy, put up the re-up
Yep! Get up cause we up, foot up and knee up In the game, put up or shut up, I hit your head up Or go bang; the Birdgang and the Birdman J Lil Wayne, here to hang, other words here to stay
Feel my pain, Fireman, I spark in the rain
I walk through the flames, yeah, all for the change, yeah
Call it insane but I’m a hustler to the muscle
And them new drop Bentleys look like pussy in the summer
So I’m fucking that, hugging that, block like I’m loving that
Never sell a crumb where my mother at —run with that
You can come at me for beef and shots come with that
Your bitch come at me for wood and I’m the lumberjack!
I come in that Similac Maybach, shades black
Looking like I’m tryna bring Yay back, ASAP
Give it to 'em raw, no Ajax, taste that
Heh, fuck around and make your face crack
I know niggas that, shoot dope, arms looking like a racetrack
Nigga missed a vein in his neck, his whole face fat!
You can’t take that? Well I can’t take back
Where I come from so I learned how to make that
Yeah, turn that straight to a G stack
Stack up my cheese, now I’m screaming «Where the keys at?»
I’m live from, block one, five-one
Where my young niggas on the rise to get a name, don’t try them
Wayne, I feel your pain and I see your stress
How they think your people 'posed to get through Katrina off a FEMA check?
Coke in the Pyrex; dope and the ice, yes
Mind on the highway, road signs, right, left
And that’s the mind-state of kids growin' up Still they wonder why the crime rate’s goin up Throw it up: Eastside, Westside, Southside, Northside
Fuck with my money I, torch guys, off guys
Hire men, fire men, send 'em to a higher man (there he go)
Torture 'em: Vice grip, pliers man
Niggas turn to tin foil when they see the iron man
Pressure bust pipes, I apply it and
Move like a lion through the jungle, yes
There is none higher than me Don’t slip up and end wind up in the lion’s den
Big body Benz idlin', higher than
A chick that flight-attend or Air Force flyer man
Bad bitches I fly 'em in, fuck 'em
Send 'em back home hyped feeling like they on nitrogen
Just call me the Pied Piper man
Still get the coke through the pipeline, then off to the piper stem
And I’m still getting paper back in rubber bands
I still got paper bags coming in I still got that mattress with the paper bags under it Comic books, Playboy baby mag under it, still!
I still got ties with my guys who don’t speak no English
Them Vatos, they got those cheapest
Got no green card, got no visas, and got those Pablo features
They drop off and pick up; I pick up then drop off
Then drop off what’s picked up, and then what? I do it