[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
N***as bitching and I gotta tote the (My n***a 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
N***as know I'm sick: I don't spit, I vomit—got it?
One egg short of the omelet
Simon says: "Shoot a n***a in his thigh and leg
And tell him, 'Catch up,' like mayonnaise"; um—
I'm the sickest n***a doing it—bet that, baby
These other n***as dope; I'm wet crack, baby, yes!
Get back, get back, boy, this a setback
Clumsy-ass n***as slip and fall into a death trap
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 n***as 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 n***a 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 n***a to me" (Gangsta!)
Yeah, don't miss, you fucking with the hitman
Kidnap a n***a, make him feel like a kid again
[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
Straight up, I ain't got no conversation for you
N***a, 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
N***a, talk to the (Cannon!)
Yeah, have a few words with the (Cannon!)
N***a, 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 n***a 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 n***as, I'm peer pressure (Yes)
Matter of fact I'm motivation to rap better (Yes)
I show n***as 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)
N***as 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 n***as, I pop, put a shell in you n***as (Oh)
My nice watch'll Helen Keller you n***as (Oh, oh)
I got whores in the Canon camcorder bendin' over
Blowing 'ghan by the quarter, weed odor in the Rover, n***a

[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, n***as 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 n***as who don't like rap loving our shit
We got n***as who was stuck on Pac bumping our shit
These n***as can't see me like I ain't been around lately
A good batter; when they at the mound, it's gravy
N***as 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, "N***a, that's some of our old shit"
Got n***as 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
N***as 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, n***a, 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?