[Lil Wayne ad lib intro:]
Yea!... n*gga this the young god Weezy Baby, what’s yo name catty?
T Streets:
This T Streets n*gga
Wayne:
My n*gga Street’s telling me he need me and Gudda to eat a few n*ggas’ back up
Gudda Gudda:
Murda murda, steal steal
Uh huh… holla at ya dude man call the coroner man the track has just been murdered
[Verse 1: Wayne]
Hear me out…
I – step up in this mutha f*cka, chest up
Only Hot Boy left up, in this mutha –
Other n*ggas slept up, but I kept up
n*ggas stepped down, but I stepped up – in this mutha f*cka
Let the Sqad up in this mutha f*cka
Keep yo wilding up, we tear the whole side up, in this mutha f*cka
South side up in this mutha f*cka
Shots fired outside or – you and ya guys could die up in this mutha f*cka
Young, Southern, Mutha f*cka: Weezy Baby/Raw Tune
Not a cartoon, send a harpoon to your hearts soon if you walk too
Close to me ???
Can’t see my flows, I practice notes with the ghosts, no joke
I’m realer than 16 days after 9/11; September 27th Happy Birthday Weezy... n*gga…
[Verse 2: Gudda Gudda]
Yea n*gga, this Gudda Gudda
All my street n*ggas stand up, all my gudda n*ggas stand up, I’mma give it to ya’ll like this (Gudda)
Look
Listen – I
Aim the thunder squeeze at ya shoulders, the ??? will puff and breeze your granola
It’s anger, hunger, he’s just a soldier
It’s gangster Gudda – Gudda mutha f*cka
What another mutha f*cka going to tell 'high yellow'?
Slim cat, send em where his brim at and trim that
And at your funeral –
I don’t know why they sing “This Little Light of Mine” cause I dim that
I’m on that stem that
Weezy get from Cam and the Dip’mats
Ya’ll can’t get that
Flowin off the sh*t that – come out that fat booga sack
Now I’m in the back with the Mac like: “What you lookin at?”
f*ck I got to quit that
Never that, rude cat, get back
Cool presence, but I merk anyone fool present
Fool I’m the neighborhood’s dude’s message
And got you n*ggas…
[Verse 3: Wayne]
Ye-aaaah!
That’s Gudda, n*gga!
I’m about to burn this sh*t back up
You know what I’m saying?
Hear your boy out
Listen
n*gga
This this South
And who can give it to you like me has been given
But you aren't here till you like me
So therefore, their whores till they like me
This sh*t is Hell boy – or what it might be
I’m 90 proof hustler, 10% human
Whip the sh*t ???
Strip the strip boomin
Get the script screwed in
Nina Ross get the script screwed and
Get yo click screwed up
Me and my click screwed up – like the Screwed Up Click
Got the purple juice poured up, the Sqad Up sip
Then the purple coupe pulled up, like: “Sqad Up’s Here”
Got b*tches riding with n*ggas like: “Let Me Out of Here”
My flow is very out-of-here
Listen ma I know I say I get us here –
But look then your baby boy got a year
Now I have not-a-fear…
f*ck ya’ll! Gudda come back...
[Verse 4: Gudda]
Gudda:
Man ya’ll don’t want that trouble, that’s a bunch of trouble right there, man ya’ll don’t want…
But I’m going to give it to ya’ll one more time, one more time
Gudda!
Look, look…
I move with the tool on the waistline, shoes on the grey 5
Blues any fool tryna take mine
Been a fool since I was yay high
Stay high puffin Hershey, eyes yay high
Mommy wanna ride with me you gotta Maz mine
That mean put your f*ckin face by my waistline
Gudda goin hard at a b*tch I don’t waste time
I’m from that Stateline where n*ggas get there cake right to bake pies
This the city where the blocks is burnin
Rocks is burnin
The sh*t that keep yo pockets splurging
It’s Gudda Gudda, watch the wheels win the drop is turnin
Like my wrist: alotta ice when the watch is turnin
Not concerned with – dope fiends whose pockets hurtin
Sqad Up. When we drop, sh*t’s locked for certain...
[Verse 5: Wayne]
Wayne:
sh*t’s locked, click clack man
Check me…
They say I’m too young to know about the sh*t I be talking about
See that’s the type of sh*t I be talking about
But f*ck the world and what they talking about
If you ain't talking about this, then you aren't talking about sh*t
Listen, I got a quarter of block
I stretch it, let it hard and it rock
Then show the hood what a bargain about
-f*ck
I got shop I call it stock
But not on Wall Street, I put this sh*t on Ya’ll Street so ya’’ll ???
Word to the highest above –
If so happens my raps don’t fly I’ll flip pies and such
Use my, school knowledge, mix science with drugs
And I’m smart enough to know that I’m going to die as a thug
n*gga life’s nothing but getting high off the bud
Cause after that I feel like I could just die in love
For the streets: I got dying love
Two tear drops are crying for, all my dying thugs
Embrace my pistol, with bear-lion hugs
Keep trying, your lying blood
Man n*gga, I breathe Iron man
My heart put lion blood
And when I roll, I grow wings and flow high above – (Music ends)
Birdman, Jr. in the skies above
The turbulence in the air make my tires rub
"I’m about to drop down Phe, Line me Up"
Perfect landing like (whistle) boom!
High, what's up?