Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Hot Wings’ by 2 Chainz. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 2 Chainz or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
(Hit-Boy)
I’m the big homie now
Don’t forget that, I’m the big homie now
I got my spunk, Louie Vuitton
Truck in the front, what’re you doin’?
I look so good, don’t call me up
She wanna suck, it’s in a Buick
I pull it up, they wanna f*ck
We gon’ get high, what’re we doing?
I got some Perc, I got a Crown
I got a crib, they gon’ get to it
I got a semi, I got a Draco
Protect my family, straight outta ClayCo
Thought I was sweet, just like a Faygo
But I had killers all on my payroll
Watch how I move, just like it Rayon
64 Chainz, just like a Crayon
I bought a hat, one with a A on it
Put on my dick, told her to stay on
I had a paper tag on three of ’em
I had the top dropped with the friends
I told ’em, “Deuce one, like Deion”
I say, “Deuce one, like Deion”
I go Bruce Wayne on you peons (peons)
Shit, I f*ck with the Falcons, true (True)
Had more sacks than a lineman
I should got a Heisman too, nigga, ha
Shit, where they hikin’ at? Hike
Check like a Nike hat, yup
I got the Midas pack, uh
Told the bih, “Quiet, relax,” uh
I got my ho on the other line
I’m not bipolar, but borderline
I just might switch lanes, drop her off
Go back, get fried
That’s all she want, hot wings
Bitches fuckin’ for some hot wings
Bitches fuckin’ for American deli
Bitches fuckin’ for some eye cream
She just want her twenty piece
All flesh with the lemon pepper
I was the first one to put her in the first class
Bitch, get your shit together
Bitch ain’t never flown before
Been try to come through security with some tennis shoes on, ho
Take the shit off, bitch
Real big, big boss music (boss music)
Big boss music, big boss, big, big boss music (boss)
That big boss music, big, big, big, big boss music, uh
That big boss music, big, big, big, big boss music (boss, boss)
Big boss music
Big, big, big boss music (boss, boss)
Big boss music
Big, big, big boss music (boss, boss)
Big boss music
You better get used to it
Ain’t no falling off, niggas goin’ straight up
You better get used to it
I need a raise, I ain’t taking paycuts
You better get used to it
Hundred for a verse, hundred for a show
You better get used to it
Everytin’ a mill’ on the low
I’m all ’bout the bag
No need to brag (brag)
Ring cost a Jag’ (Jag’)
Dreads to the back like a shag (shag)
Smoke you like SIG in the mag
I’m all over there (there)
They callin’ me Flair
They callin’ me DiBiase
My girl ballin’, Taurasi
2 Chainz, time Versaci
They don’t sell ’em in Foot Locker
Curve game on BluBlocker
Southside with a F
F stand for a few options
Dealership, I don’t do auctions
F*ck clothes, I need a new closet
My new watch is moonwalkin’
This somethin’ she don’t do often
Bitch ain’t never flown before
Been try to come through security with some tennis shoes on, ho
Take the shit off, bitch
Real big, big boss music (yeah)
Big boss music, big boss, big, big boss music (I’m the big homie now)
That big boss music, big, big, big, big boss music (I’m the big homie)
That big boss music, big, big, big, big boss music (boss, boss)
Big boss music
Big, big, big boss music (big, big) (boss, boss)
Big boss music
Big, big, big boss music (boss, boss)
Big boss music (I’m the big homie now, yeah)
I’m the big homie now, yeah
I’m the big homie now