conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Cannon with the following description: Essentially the precursor to “A Milli,” it seemed that by the end of summer (of 2006) everyone had recorded a verse over “Cannon”
  The non-Wayne rappers on the song – Freeway, Willie the Kid, Detroit Red, and Juice – turn out decent performances, but mainly you keep listening to the song’s dope beat (perhaps hoping that Wayne has another verse)
  The song is called “Cannon” because it was produced by DJ Drama affiliate Don Cannon, who uses this “Cannon” sound as his ID in tracks he has produced
  DJ Drama broke down the creation of this record for us:
  http://players.brightcove.net/4863540648001/HklmClHkx_default/index.html?videoId=5237523459001 Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Produced by DJ Don Cannon]
  [Intro: Lil Wayne, 
  DJ Drama
  , & 
  DJ drops
  ]
  Yeah
  AMG's the gang!
  Dedication 2
  Drama
  Pay attention!
   (
  Gangsta Gri-Zillz!
  )
  [Verse 1: Lil Wayne, 
  DJ Drama
  , & 
  DJ drops
  ]
  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 [Chorus: Lil Wayne]
  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!
  )
  [Verse 2: Freeway]
  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! [Verse 3: Willie the Kid]
  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
  [Verse 4: Detroit Red]
  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!
  ) [Verse 5: Juice]
  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!
  [Outro: DJ Drama]
  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?