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It's gravy n***a. Believe it.
You hot? F**k it. Hot as a firecracker.
(It's gravy too.) I got a mac in this bag.
(click clock) What you got? Glock. (Look)

N***a I'ma tell ya straight off the bat
I got a mac in this bag with 20 grams of crack
And I'ma sit in the back seat of yo' 'Lac
Just in case I gotta snap, a firette to the chest
If I don't know s**t, I know cars and broads
I done ordered plenty hits and watched heads come off
And I done saw my n***a get life behind them bars
To them dog hoes, n***a, we scream "fuck 'em all!"
I hustle hard in these city streets
I got my block on fire with my hb's
Spinnin' Benz in these drop tops double are
Cook a brick, flip 'em up, now I got 'em hard
And you can find me
Right up in them hallways, holdin' and totin'
Got the whole motherfuckin block loaded and smokin'
N***a know one thang: it's some uptown s**t
If a n***a get it f****d, then we killin' a b***h

N***a I'ma tell ya this, straight off the bat
I got a mac in this bag, with 20 grams of crack
Well let's go n***a, see we can slide n***a
'cause if you hot, then I'm hot, let's ride n***a
Look, I'ma tell you this, straight off the top
I got a blunt, and a glock, and a bag of rocks
Let's go n***a, let's slide n***a
If you hot, then I'm hot, let's ride n***a

[Lil Wayne]
Better pay attention now so you don't forget later
I run the damn block, I oversee all of the paper
Don't make me take ya, play ya
I c*** the glock and spray ya
Call it a caper, won't be no as-salama-laka
And J, he got the gauges, they cocked and ready
Make me run up in ya places and pop ya daddy
Got them bricks rocked and heavy, let it be known
I cook it hard and cut 'em in zones and the money be gone
Then I hit a blunt to the dome, and ride when night falls
Supply the white raw, if there's a problem, knock ya wife off
Lock the spot down
Respect it young n***a, I'm creepin' over
Now cut it with just a little bakin' soda, breakin' boulders
I take it out my holster and bakin' soldiers whenever
N***a it's whatever, tell ya ma to call the reverend
You see me on the block with crack, gats, and weed
Rats, plats, and ki's, that's practically me


[Lil Wayne]
See I'm a hustler, cut-throat, put rhymes in mom's muffler
You can't even count how many times the 9's bust at ya
Some of the, n****s that you run with are, suckas bruh
None of ya, won't leave, without some bullets up in ya
N****s can't hold me down, wodie wild
'cause all that they can hear is loud screamin' and explosive sounds
They show me how to cook that brown and rock that white
No school, put that book back down, pick up that knife
See that's the real reason I hate to be on tour
I'd rather be back on the block with a bird of that pure
N****s got it all wrong, thinkin' I'm all song
But yall gon' twist it and end up all gone
Dog-gone cocksuckers, you not thuggers
I pop dozens of glocks, cousins, in my struggle
So stop frontin', it ain't gon' get ya everywhere
I'ma start bustin', and bullets hit ya everywhere

Chorus x 2

[Baby talks till end]

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