Текст песни Burbons and Lacs - Master P

This is for the Burbons and the Cadillac's
With the tens and the twelves 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 Burbons and the Cadillac's
With the tens and the twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
Sippin' skins, makin' dividends and riding with the straps

(Uh) wood grain with the leather seats
Windows so dark you need a flashlight to see me
Smokin' on that doshia, four niggas in the back screaming, "No limit soldier"
True to the gizzame, stopped in the projects, sold a half an ounce of cocaine
Hit interstate ten, to Texas
Listening to DJ Screw, just raised the Lexus
Called up Pimp see, did a song last week with my nigga Bun be
Twistin' on some green spinach
And niggas still trippin', I ain't dead, I'm still in it

This is for the Burbons and the Cadillac's
With the tens and the twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
With the Benz makin' ends and them paper stacks

See, pocket full of dollars already stacked, strong 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, pussy diver
Twist 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, said bitch 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 hoes at the sideshow, abouts to plot
Hittin' donuts, you know I'm macking a straight up nigga
Catch me spinnin', you can tell I was there
Cause like a cloud of smoke when I 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 dash
You never know who might not be
And this is for the playas

Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie
Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie

Burbons and Lacs, mansions and bitches, money and weed
A made life is all I dream, paper chasing for that green
I'm thugging on the scene, nigga
What, you don't believe? Well check the credentials, they'll tell ya
A nigga's living presidential, I'm on the level that you bustas will never feel
My daughter, I'd be caught up in the game and get killed
But reverse that shit and hit the studio and make a mil'

For real, I'm slanging platinum shit until I'm old and ill
Lil' Gotti, I'ma make you feel what I say, I got time to parlay
Chill off in the bay, smoke some hay, I wouldn't have this shit no other way
The made life, the game tight

This is for the Burbons and the Cadillac's (no limits for like)
With the tens and the twelves 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 Burbons and the Cadillac's
With the tens and the twelves 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
Rollin' on chrome-made candy