Catalina

Album: Only Built 4 Cuban Linx II (2009)
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  • I grew up on the foul side
    Nickel-bag valcyte
    Purple tops, two for fives
    I had seven grams
    Outside with my eleven mans
    On the corners with a pocket full of contrabands
    Running up and down fire-escapes, narcs coming
    Jump in the window let your Nikes fly, hide the flakes
    Guess up in the hill it was real to me
    What a nigga woulda did if you steal from me
    All my life around drug niggas villains who want millions
    Niggas with them hoodies on with teks in the building
    Mad fiends, bags and green, Gillette razors, fly neighbors
    All our blazers designer jeans
    That's why we live (yup)
    Niggas need shit in their crib
    Go broke, you go and rope you a Vick
    It's just full-time stragglers
    Niggas try to take your place
    And smile in your face
    But still in all backstabbers

    I'm just trying to get on
    Leave a couple mil to my kids when I'm gone
    And nigga that ain't cologne
    It's the smell of this money
    I'm just trying to get home
    'Cause I don't know when my karma gonna catch up
    I don't know when the toilet gonna back up
    And put me in some shit that I can't get out of

    Come on
    Bags of money
    Trying to stay rich and fly
    Keep it cool, silks and dungarees
    Krug glasses and food
    Grilled salmon, trying to make a move
    Those who knowing they be dapping they dudes
    How it do blow a lot of crews stay in the cut
    Pacing from here to LA and Hawaii and Cuba
    Blue new oozie too serial numbers is braille
    So when you rub against it feel on (?)
    Now I'm with some special niggas, next level niggas
    With rubber bezels who drive Exeleros with jewels
    (?) boots on, olive goose, calamari soups
    And noodles that spell out "Y'all niggas the truth"
    What it is baby boy, reclining in a big Benz lazy boy
    Ends up, lenses on, Chips Ahoy
    Shipping triple, niggas try to stop the issue
    And cock-block but can't stop the official

    I'm just trying to get on
    Leave a couple mil to my kids when I'm gone
    And nigga that ain't cologne
    It's the smell of this money
    I'm just trying to get home
    'Cause I don't know when my karma gonna catch up
    I don't know when the toilet gonna back up
    And put me in some shit that I can't get out of Writer/s: ANDRE ROMELL YOUNG, ANDRE YOUNG, DAWAUN PARKER, DAWAUN W. PARKER, MARK BATSON, MARK CHRISTOPHER BATSON
    Publisher: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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