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stanwill - cuban links lyrics

[intro]
huh, huh (hokatiwi), huh

[verse]
with a puerto rican, b_tch, i’m rockin’ cuban links
ar got a scope, boy, i can shoot from deep
think my n_ggas nerdy, all they do is geek
used to run surveillance on your b_tch ’cause all she do is creep
she ain’t blow no candles on her birthday, all she blew is me
landed in new york, i’m hoppin’ off my flight in new supremes
this b_tch got 220 on the dash, you think i do the speed?
rasta full of ballers, bet she do the team
couldn’t be the wimpy kid, i’m heavy on my gouda cheese
all they know is swager dropped, them n_ggas don’t know who to be
run my money up, could take a one and turn it to a three
sittin’ on his ass, he done blew his lead
reachin’ for my g’s, bet i send some hollows through his tee
i tell brodie leave a ho diseased while i flew to greece
i could hold my rollie up in summer, make it two degrees
i have brodie pop up out your bushes like he viet cong
i just f_cked a n_gga mama ’cause she look like nia long
how i make her hit the notes, you’d think she tryna sing a song
white boy finna smoke an opp right after he go chief his bong
i could write a story ’bout my life, you better read along
all this f_ckin’ chicken that i touched, you’d think i need some tongs
when they tried to knock me off my pivot, i ain’t even fall
my blower put him in a leaf, but it ain’t even fall
doin’ all that barkin’, that ain’t even dog
he d_ck suckin’ off the wake up, he ain’t even pause
his label put him on a shelf, guess he ain’t read the clause
she like the way i ball, so she eat the b_lls
got a hundred f_ckin’ bags when i leave the mall
hit an opp with somethin’ sour, sh_t ain’t sweet at all
she sick i got her number, i ain’t even call
when he try to stand on business, he ain’t even tall
lettuce in my pockets, i got carats on my wrist
i ain’t run my f_ckin’ money up to share it with a b_tch
bullets hit a n_gga redneck, keep on starin’ at the clip
in the ‘burbs i’ll start the kitty off, the karen be on tip
get an oppy tooth blew, i bet we pare a n_gga quick
he ain’t got his own fashion, he be sharin’ n_ggas’ ricks
model b_tches at the tele tryna share a n_gga big
treat an opp like michael jordan, we gon’ air a n_gga quick
thinkin’ that’s your wifey? boy, that’s every n_gga b_tch
on my way to get some lobster, blowin’ larry with the clique
with this foreign b_tch, she finna get her areolas l!cked
catch an opp and sioux k!ll him, boy, i’m terio with bl!ck
b_tch want a ring tryna marry ’cause i trick
if you know me, you know glocky what i carry on my hip
have my b_tch go make him poof, she like a fairy with the stick
ain’t it funny how i see this sh_t more clearly through the tints?
[outro]
b_tch, dog sh_t militia
gang

- stanwill

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