Cuban On

[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?