WC - That's What I'm Talking About lyrics

They call me dubcuda was the last name Money in my lap doin a buck in the fast lane The pa**ion of a husler I got it And if it aint about money I don't wanna talk about it The pa**ion of a husler I got it And if it aint about money I don't wanna talk about it Chorus Now lemme see your fingers in the sky And if you like money keep em up high Stand up put your hands up Show me what you all about Real sh** n***a Yeah that's what I'm talkin' bout Getting' it in out of the concrete boots In a coupe a hundred ten Blowin like a flute Fresh off of lockdown Straight out the chute n***a down for whatever Still all about the loot The property of poverty The looters of youth Now it's denim on the leather While removing the roof The hog on the hog With the "D's" on the Deuce And you can blame it on the alcohol The weed and the juice look. Load up my weaponry Starter cap to the left of me You know when I rep a "C" Dub S to the d**h of me Motherf**ers wasn't respectin' me But im all up in your chest with heat Givin you sideline bitter n***as vasectomies Till I rest in peace Hustle the recipe Your n***as a b**h baby you need to sit next to me Dub Cuda the bandana dangler O T countin dirty money with the hanky up Chorus (?) you Shake the (?) off you Comin again please Gimme something to walk too I can't leave see For all of my n***as Who don't wear tight jeans up they a** needs me went independent last CD still sold a sh**load of records no radio or TV and Im stickin to the program Chucks on the concrete While the Cadillac door slams The "W" was my star symbol My jams make n***as get down Like barrels out of car windows Im a nut for Cheese and chuck T's Addicted to big bu*t cheeks an weaves Not a pop artist But I'll pop they heezee A branch of the same tree as Pac & Eazy Bumpin Jam Master Jay & Biggie Iron on the stove Shakin up the starch can Sprayin my Dickies Chorus Now who that n***a quick to shoot it Cap at the truest The closest to the streets to do it Me The D Fisher in this rap sh** im a vet In a blue pro (?) tied around the neezeck Your future baby daddy I might be You aint never been with a n***a like me Baby slide me you number Ill call you later this weekend I can't talk now I'm on my way to rob the weed man Love by a few hated by majurity Im the reason these rappers keep security I go hard kick gears and jump cars Chuckin up the hood Three wheelin in your front yard You n***as is temporary Facebook Gangstas I put faces on obituaries n***a Chorus