Cannon - Lil Wayne, DJ Drama, Freeway

Yeah

AMG’s the gang!

Dedication 2

Drama

Pay attention!

(Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)

Howdy-do, motherfuckers, it’s Weezy Baby

Niggas bitching and I gotta tote the (My nigga 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

Niggas know I’m sick: I don’t spit, I vomit—got it?

One egg short of the omelet

Simon says: «Shoot a nigga in his thigh and leg

And tell him, 'Catch up,' like mayonnaise»;

um—

I’m the sickest nigga doing it—bet that, baby

These other niggas dope;

I’m wet crack, baby, yes!

Get back, get back, boy, this a setback

Clumsy-ass niggas 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 niggas 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 nigga 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 nigga to me» (Gangsta!)

Yeah, don’t miss, you fucking with the hitman

Kidnap a nigga, make him feel like a kid again

Straight up, I ain’t got no conversation for you

Nigga, 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

Nigga, talk to the (Cannon!)

Yeah, have a few words with the (Cannon!)

Nigga, tell it to my motherfucking (Cannon!)

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 nigga 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!

I make it hard for rap niggas, I’m peer pressure (Yes)

Matter of fact I’m motivation to rap better (Yes)

I show niggas 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)

Niggas 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 niggas, I pop, put a shell in you niggas (Oh)

My nice watch’ll Helen Keller you niggas (Oh, oh)

I got whores in the Canon camcorder bendin' over

Blowing 'ghan by the quarter, weed odor in the Rover, nigga

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, niggas 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!)

Legs spread far out, you know how I’m standing

Yeah, I’m posted with the big homie (Cannon! Ha)

I got niggas who don’t like rap loving our shit

We got niggas who was stuck on Pac bumping our shit

These niggas can’t see me like I ain’t been around lately

A good batter;

when they at the mound, it’s gravy

Niggas 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, «Nigga, that’s some of our old shit»

Got niggas 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

Niggas 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, nigga, 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!

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?