This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
With the 10s and 12s bumpin' in the back
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
With the Benz makin' ends, I mean them paper stacks
This is for the Burbans and the Cadillac's
With the 10s and 12s bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
Slappin' skins, makin' dividends and riding strapped
(Uhh)
Wood grain with the leather seats
Windows so dark you need a flashlight to see me
Smokin' on that doshia, four n**s in the back
Screaming No Limit soldiers
True to the gizzame, stopped in the projects
Sold a half an ounce of c**e
Hit interstate ten, to Texas
Listening to DJ Screw just raised the Lexus
Called up P**p C
Did a song last week with my n**a Bun B
Twistin' on some green spinach
And n**s still trippin', I ain't dead, I'm still in it
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
With the 10s and 12s bumpin' in the back
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
With the Benz makin' ends and them paper stacks
See pockets full of dollars already stacked
So I'm gangsta leaning sideways
Today ain't Friday, ten it is and today is my day
Take it from Mister High spoke rider
Cadillac Suburban driver, p**y diver
Push the glock inside when I'm riding
Flossing down the block, holla at my boys up in the third
Got the latest word, swerve to the side of the curb
A fiend that wanted me to serve him
I say, b**h can't tell I'm off?
But I still gave him five dollars to wipe my white walls
And then I burst up out the block
Dropped the top 'cause it was hot
Hit the spot with the most h**s at the sideshow
Abouts to plot
Hittin' donuts, you know I'm macking, a straight up n**a
Catch me spinnin', you can tell I was there
'Cause a cloud smoke when I was finished
I seen five-O, and man he tried to sweat me
Thinkin' he'd be nice and all 'cause I gotta 185
In the hood and you know they can't catch me
And if you see me chilling you can stop me
But I keep that glock, 40 up on the dashboard
You never know who might not be
This is for the playas
Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie
Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie
Bourbans and Lacs
Mansions and b**s
Money and w**d
A made life is all I dream, paper chasing for that green
I'm thugging on the scene
N**a
Whatcha don't believe
Well check the credentials, they'll tell ya
A n**s living presidential
I'm on the level that you bustas will never feel
Thought I'd get caught up in the game and get killed
But reverse that s**t and hit the studio and make a mill
For real, I'm slanging platinum s**t until I'm old and ill
Like' Gotti
I'm gonna make you feel what I say
I got time to parlay
Chill off in the bay
Smoke some hay
I wouldn't have that s**t no other way
The made life
The game tight
No Limit for life
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
With the 10s and 12s bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
With the 10s and 12s bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks
Playa play on
I can't hate you homie
