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cuban on - damedot lyrics

[intro]
yeah
ayy (are you in the mafia?)

[verse 1]
i’m a good n*gga but my b*tch bad
like she ’bout to spend the night, got a big bag
she got a thing for rich n*ggas in the h*llcat
she preferrin’ n*ggas 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 n*gga 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’ b*tch 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 n*gga ain’t nothin’ like me, go ‘head, tell the truth
b*tch, i banged out racks, who the f*ck is you?
n*gga, 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 sh*t doin’ the tootsie roll
blew a roll last night, before the night, i be done blew a roll
this sh*t everyday
i can never lack, take the stick to every play
b*tch, 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 f*ck 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, n*gga, 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 n*gga to heaven and they sent
you play the role with some real k!llers, so we sent them
we ain’t want them so we sent ’em back, i don’t give a f*ck (i don’t want ’em)
i don’t give a f*ck, dawg, these hoes could be kissin’ cousins (i be goin’ flrrt, i guess it’s little b*tton)
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 sh*t, hands up like i had a paper cutter
my choppers all got cookie cookers, i’m realer than a motherf*cker
[chorus]
everytime she at the crib, she be tryna put my cuban on
i don’t got no dance moves but my sh*t doin’ the tootsie roll
blew a roll last night, before the night, i be done blew a roll
this sh*t everyday
i can never lack, take the stick to every play
b*tch, 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?

- damedot lyrics

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