Lil Wayne - 500 Degreez Lyrics

It's the real shit, yeah
500 Degreez this time, bitch
Yessir, yessir, throw them Ws up
You already know (yeah, yeah)

You see me? I eat, sleep, shit, and talk snaps, so fuck rap
Man, I got weed, pills, pistols, all crack
Bitch niggas, where ya hearts at?
Y'all ain't stuntin' like us
Bitch niggas, where ya cars at?
They like, "Wayne, why the fuck you dressed in all black?"
I'm about to bring C-M-R back
And all the lames, we done lost that
And all we got is Weezy, Weezy, and Lil' Weezy to fall back
I'm about to lock it from the summer to the fall and back
"It's Weezy, baby," the bar is back
And the wheels on my car, you gotta order that
Stop playing, I've been ballin', Jack
You don't want my Glock sprayin', I hit all them cats
You don't want my stomach ache, I shit on them cats
I get on them cats, Fresh and B, it's all a wrap
If I'm the only Hot Boy, then what do you call that?

You don't want to fuck with Weezy (no, you don't, no, you don't, no, you don't)
You don't want to fuck with Weezy (500, I'm 500, oh, I'm 500)

Okay, okay, nigga
Bitch what? I'll bust ya ass up (nigga)
Don't even go there round, niggas get your cash up
We probably need to clash up (probably)
This shit got me 'bout ass up (what?)
They finding niggas in they shit with they ass up
It ain't October 31st but we gon' mask up and guess what, ayy
You know I heard they got some nice chains
And for the right price, I'll bust the right brain
And mommy hot 'cause I pull up in that white thang
Oh, but your nigga might be fly but I still get trifling (okay)
Riding through the city just me and my flame (okay)
Friday night special, professional tight aim (okay)
A gangsta is who you hearing
Me in my building, with 20 bricks in the ceiling
I'm more real than, I got more scrill than
Got more skill than them there
I'm a Cash Money Millionaire (Cash Money, bitch)

You don't want to fuck with Weezy (no, you don't, no, you don't, no, you don't)
You don't want to fuck with Weezy (500, oh, I'm 500, baby, uh, let's go)

Hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy
Hot, hot, hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy (yessir, Slim, they can't cool me down, baby)

Uh, uh
Baby, let me get the keys to the Rover
No, let me get the keys to the house in Eastover
So I can throw a 500 Degreez platinum party, then the an after party
My Squad stomping in this bitch, fuck a Kappa party (bitch)
Don't go to rapper parties (nope), I'm no rapper man (why?)
But when the homies come home, we throw a monster jam
And all my people tote chrome, we some monsters, man
We gone mob to the promised land, I ball big, I'm a Tymer man
Son of a Stunna, baby girl fuck with a hustler
Weezy keep it gutter for ya, Baby Bubba
Baby blue Mercedes Coupe, got it bullet proof
Make me shoot my 80 duke at your fucking roof
You're fuckin' with a big dog, nigga fuckin' roof
Mr. S-fucking-Q, I'm the fucking truth
Three stripes, baby, Nikes lot of ice buckets (oof)
That's 500 Degreez

You don't want to fuck with Weezy (haha, yessir, uh, uhm you really don't)
You don't want to fuck with Weezy (500, ah, I'm 500, ah, ah, I'm 500, man, I'm 500, people, yessir)

500, 500 (500, man, they can't cool me down)
500, 500 (I mean, it's burning through the package, people, this is 500 degrees, get it right)
Degrees (know what I'm sayin'?)