lil wayne’s tha carter vi is a victory lap in a crown that still fits

Lil Wayne Tha Carter VI

“Real art can’t be rushed — and y’all know I ain’t never been on nobody’s clock but mine.”

With those words, Tha Carter VI roars into existence. After seven long years, the rap deity from Hollygrove, New Orleans returns to expand a legacy that has been nearly two decades in the making. The sixth installment of Tha Carter series doesn’t just add another chapter — it redefines the canon.

Lil Wayne, now 42, isn’t chasing trends. He’s not trying to reclaim the throne — because frankly, he never left. Tha Carter VI is a sprawling, experimental, deeply personal, and often strange body of work that proves one truth: there is only one Tunechi.

And this time, he brought his whole world with him.

The Opening Salvo: Myth and Metaphor

Tha Carter VI opens not with bars, but with "King Carter", a theatrical spoken-word prologue drenched in trumpets and godly reverence. It’s the kind of intro you’d expect before a Julius Caesar or a LeBron James. It doesn’t feature Wayne, but it sets the tone: this isn’t just an album — it’s an announcement.

But then comes “Peanuts 2 N Elephant”, a dissonant, circus-sounding misfire that leans too heavily into political metaphor without clear intent. Wayne’s jab at Trump, who once pardoned him, lacks the sharpness of his usual pen. It’s a rare moment where the beat overwhelms the bars.

Thankfully, we’re quickly pulled back by “Bells”, a punchline-packed cruiser reminiscent of mixtape-era Weezy. It’s not peak Wayne, but it’s a solid reminder that the man still has bars tucked into his dreads.

Family Ties and Left Turns

Wayne’s decision to feature his sons, Kameron Carter (“Rari”) and Lil Novi (“Mula Komin In”), is a personal flex and a symbolic passing of the torch. While neither song is revolutionary, there’s something endearing about a father-mentor duo rapping about fast cars and future riches.

Jelly Roll and Big Sean pop up on “Sharks”, an unlikely trio that surprisingly works. Jelly's country drawl meets Wayne’s paranoia, and Big Sean gets reflective, touching on betrayal and growth. It’s subdued but sticky.

“Island Holiday” and “The Days” (feat. Bono) are Wayne’s attempts to marry rock and rap again. “The Days”, with its U2 lift and NBA Finals exposure, is a stadium-ready anthem that would’ve been a smash in 2010. In 2025, it feels nostalgic but a bit out of sync. That said, its message of resilience resonates: “I don’t take any day for granted,” Wayne says. After brushes with death and the law, he means it.

In the Dark with a Lighter

One of the album’s more talked-about tracks is “Alone in the Studio With My Gun”, featuring MGK and Kodak Black. This is Wayne’s emo moment — all ambient beats and existential dread. He’s got more guns than guitars, and MGK’s angsty chorus adds an unexpected but effective layer.

Then comes the jazzy flex “Cotton Candy” with 2 Chainz — a sugary throwback to ColleGrove energy that makes you wish those two would just drop another tape already. It's classic Wayne: gaudy, cheeky, slick.

Wayne’s softer side re-emerges on “If I Played Guitar”, where heartbreak meets metaphor. He’s not wielding his guitar as a rockstar here — it’s his confessional booth. The line “I should use that bridge you sold me to get over you” is heartbreak poetry only Wayne could write.

The N.O. Chapter: Pride and Pain

Wayne’s roots show most on “Banned from NO”, a fiery throwback that recalls his No Ceilings hunger. It sounds like he’s got something to prove again — maybe to himself, maybe to the city that shaped him. There are rumored references to being snubbed during the New Orleans Super Bowl, and Wayne doesn’t mince words about fake love in his hometown.

Then “Maria” takes us to unexpected territory: an operatic blend of Wayne, Wyclef Jean, and Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli. Yes, you read that right. This could’ve gone terribly wrong, but instead, it gives us Wayne’s most vulnerable verse: reflecting on abuse, trauma, and his near-death experience as a child. Strip away the bravado and there’s a human behind the tattoos, still bleeding on the beat.

A Crown Reforged

Now let’s talk elite territory.

“Welcome to Tha Carter” isn’t just a track — it’s a ritual. Over church choirs and lush production, Wayne interpolates Diddy’s “Victory” and sends shout-outs from Metta World Peace to Sean McVay. It’s a sports bar for the soul, with Tunechi as the preacher. Despite Diddy’s ongoing controversies, Wayne treats the music as canon — not a scandal.

Then we hit “Loki’s Theme”, where chaos reigns. It’s vintage Wayne: gang signs and guitar solos, punchlines and polymorphs. This track could soundtrack a Marvel spinoff or a riot — or both.

But the most impressive exercise in chemistry is “Hip-Hop”, a sleeper banger featuring BigXthaPlug and Jay Jones. The energy’s raw, the flows are surgical, and the bars are clever. “Bitches all over me and X like Twitter,” Wayne quips — the kind of line only he could make sound effortless after all these years.

And just when you think you’ve seen it all...

The Peak: Being Himself

Wayne locks back in with longtime producer Mannie Fresh for “Bein Myself”, an anthemic soul-rap cut laced with flute loops and hard truths. He fires shots at AI-generated music, confidently claiming no machine can replicate his brain. “Do a song about myself featuring myself,” he raps, tongue-in-cheek. It’s classic Weezy: absurd, confident, genius.

Then comes the curtain call: “Written History.” Over a sample of Muhammad Ali’s 1974 speech, Wayne pens his legacy in ink. He calls out biters, pays homage to his journey, and tells the next generation to honor their roots. “Don’t eat the fruit without acknowledging the label, n—a,” he says. And just like that, he signs off.

The Verdict: C6 Is Not Perfect. It’s Something Better — It’s Honest.

Tha Carter VI is a mixtape fever dream wrapped in an operatic rap saga. It’s part autobiography, part flex, part farewell letter, and part musical experiment.

No, it’s not as sharp or cohesive as Tha Carter III or as hungry as Tha Carter II. But it’s something else entirely: a creative veteran at peace with his place in history, unafraid to fumble, explore, or pass the mic to his kids. That vulnerability — wrapped in Wayne’s signature wit and absurdity — is what makes this album essential.

He’s not chasing charts or clout anymore. He’s carving new rooms inside the house he helped build.

As the king himself says: “Tunechi back. C6 is here. I’m just bein myself. Sorry for the wait.”

RATING: 8.5/10 — A Legacy Expanded. A Risk Well Taken. A King Unbothered.