[Lil Wayne]
Pardon my gang affil
But you’re stepping on a Rodney Dangerfield
Weezy Baby, how do the Manger feel?
Respect my aim because I aim to kill
Hahaha, Old b*tch ass n*gga
Abercrombie and Fitch ass n*gga
I talk rich sh*t because I’m a rich ass n*gga
I hope you in the zone because I pitch fast n*gga
Ha, I smoke something b*tch
My money comes faster than the roadrunner b*tch
I keep it on the side just in case you might wonder
Tech 9 Four 5 just in case you like numbers
Haha, b*tch n*gga we might jump ya
2 Step all in yo face, we might Unk ya
Hahaha, bandana on the right side
East side until I die
[Lil Wayne - Hook]
And we wear chains like it's Mardi Gras
And we pull guns like Quick Draw McGraw
See I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana
And he’s from Compton, baby, bandana
We carry them caskets, we tote them hammers
Su to the Woop, yeah, that’s our grammar
Lemme hear you say Su Woo
Su Woo, Su Woo
[Game]
Young Money
And thats perfect cause perfect is to me
What’s perfect as Hallie or a jab from Ali
So capitalise the P cause perfect is Godly
Black Wall Street, the perfect family, The Cosby
All I need is a perfect b*tch
How’s B, I passed the baton on Solange
I’m sure like Al B
But a bougie B would never give me the perfect P-I-R-U
Hello Brooklyn I can’t see, cause if I did
I'd be S-U-double O-P D-O-double G
Cut it in half and you will see
That this Philadelphia 'P' sit on my head
Like a low Ceaser, wear it to the hood and get me street cred like Four Visa’s
n*ggas f*cking with Weezy, I will slow leak em
Hang em from a telephone pole like my old sneakers
Red bandana for no reason
Put Weezy on and that N-O bleedin’, yeah
[Hook]
[Game]
Can’t stop the red bandana, even if you put me in a cage full of orangurtan’s
I’ll show you how bangers bang
Four five c*cked back, move the crowd like Dana Dane
Switch plates, paint the Range
Leave so much blood on the wall look like the f*cking painters came
Dead wrong ain't it man
I told n*ggas I ain't a Game
All black gold chain, looking like the saint is playin’
He sold a milli, I’m Vanilli
So it ain't a thing to make it rain in a hundred dollar bills
We throwing paper planes
Riding through the N.O
Red Marc Jacob frames
We disappear like David Blaine
And pop up at the Lakers game
They playing the C’s with Paul Pierce Throwing The B’s
That make the ref affiliated, everytime he hit a three
Ken Griffey lost all his fans, taking off his red top
Bloods in New York like Manhattan took a head shot
I’m one blood, he’s the Carter with the dread locks
My whole team run base, we the f*cking Red Sox
[Hook x2]