CUBAN ON

Lyrics

[Intro] Yeah Ayy (Are you in the mafia?) [Verse 1] I'm a good nigga but my bitch bad Like she 'bout to spend the night, got a big bag She got a thing for rich niggas in the Hellcat She preferrin' niggas quiet with a lot of racks Two bands on the shoes, these Ricks got me in a move And I'm off the shroom, the freshest nigga in the room She ain't got no ass but she pretty so I said, "It's cool" I got real demons in the cut, I'll cut 'em loose Lil' bitch tryna play close, had to cut her loose Gang trip down in Miami, got a hundred coupes Some of these hoes get around the money and don't know what to do If she ain't get that BBL, she'll be really through Your nigga ain't nothin' like me, go 'head, tell the truth Bitch, I banged out racks, who the fuck is you? Nigga, you can go from rags to riches, I'm the livin' proof I could fit your whole house in my livin' room I be wearin' tennis chains but I ain't playin' tennis She only in her twenties but her hair fifty inches It's so little, you can't tell I got a AR pistol If you dissin' on the 'net, I'ma come and get you [Chorus] Everytime she at the crib, she be tryna put my Cuban on I don't got no dance moves but my shit doin' the tootsie roll Blew a roll last night, before the night, I be done blew a roll This shit everyday I can never lack, take the stick to every play Bitch, you can't get a bag but you can get some Chic-Fil-A (Haha) The way I hit the girl, I just might catch a case (Yeah) I'll throw you green, tell me, can you catch a case? [Verse 2] I just dumped eighty lines of red, I'm Jerry Rice Drink so much Wock', I'ma turn into a pint How the fuck she a ho and got turned into a wife? (How?) All black Ricks but the bottom of 'em white All black stick but the beam on it mint green, nigga, don't tempt me (Boy) I'll pull up in Prada and leave in Givenchy I won't pull up in no [?] to pick you up, this a Bentley She pray for a rich nigga to Heaven and they sent You play the role with some real killers, so we sent them We ain't want them so we sent 'em back, I don't give a fuck (I don't want 'em) I don't give a fuck, dawg, these hoes could be kissin' cousins (I be goin' flrrt, I guess it's little button) I got on these Louis trainers, nah, these ain't no Dior runners I keep all my hoes close to me but the paper closer Countin' all this shit, hands up like I had a paper cutter My choppers all got cookie cookers, I'm realer than a motherfucker [Chorus] Everytime she at the crib, she be tryna put my Cuban on I don't got no dance moves but my shit doin' the tootsie roll Blew a roll last night, before the night, I be done blew a roll This shit everyday I can never lack, take the stick to every play Bitch, you can't get a bag but you can get some Chic-Fil-A The way I hit the girl, I just might catch a case (Yeah) I'll throw you green, tell me, can you catch a case?