This is for the players smokin' doolamac
Smokin' on that doshia, four niggas in the back
Did a song last week with my nigga Bun B
Hit interstate ten, to Texas
Push the glock inside when I'm riding
Whatcha don't believe, well check the credents, they'll tell ya
Sold a half an ounce of cocaine
Take it from Mister High spoke rider
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
But I still gave him five dollars to wipe my white walls
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
But I keep that glock, 40 up on the dashboard
Playa, play on
I seen five-O, and man he tried to sweat me
Thinkin' he'd be nice and all 'cause I gotta 185
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
Playa play on
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
The made life, the game tight, No Limit for life
Catch me spinnin', you can tell I was there
I can't hate you homie
Wood grain with the leather seats
(Uhh)
Cadillac Suburban driver, pussy diver
Bourbans and Lacs, mansions and bitches, money and weed
Windows so dark you need a flashlight to see me
Hit the spot with the most hoes at the sideshow, abouts to plot
I'm thugging on the scene, nigga
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
And then I burst up out the block, dropped the top 'cause it was hot
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks
Got the latest word, swerve to the side of the curb
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks
You never know who might not be
Today ain't Friday, ten it is and today is my day
A made life is all I dream, paper chasing for that green
This is for the Burbans and the Cadillac's
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
And niggas still trippin', I ain't dead, I'm still in it
My daughter thought I'd get caught up in the game and get killed
But reverse that shit and hit the studio and make a mill
Called up Pimp C
A niggas living presidential
Screaming No Limit soldiers
Twistin' on some green spinach
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
Hittin' donuts, you know I'm macking, a straight up nigga
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
Flossing down the block, holla at my boys up in the third
And if you see me chilling you can stop me
See pockets full of dollars already stacked
A fiend that wanted me to serve him, I said, bitch can't tell I'm off?
True to the gizzame, stopped in the projects
In the hood and you know they can't catch me
I wouldn't have that shit no other way
This is for the Bourbans and the Cadillac's
This is for the playas
Slappin' skins, makin' dividends and riding strapped
I'm on the level that you bustas will never feel
Strong gangsta leaning sideways
I can't hate you homie
Lil' Gotti, I'm gonna make you feel what I say, I got time to parlay
Chill off in the bay, smoke some hay
Listening to DJ Screw just raised the Lexus
With the Benz makin' ends, I mean them paper stacks
'Cause I clocked smoke when I was finished
For real, I'm slanging platinum shit until I'm old and ill
Playa, play on
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
With the Benz makin' ends and them paper stacks
