That's What I'm Talking About - WC

They call me Dub-Cuda, was the last name

Money in my lap, doing a buck in the fast lane

The passion of a hustler, I got it

And if it ain’t about money, I don’t wanna talk about it

The passion of a hustler, I got it

And if it ain’t about money, I don’t wanna talk about it

Now let me see your fingers in the sky

And if you like money, keep them up high

Stand up put your hands up, show me what you all about

Real shit nigga — Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about

Getting it in out of the concrete boots

In a Coupé a hundred ten, blowing like a flute

Fresh off of lockdown, straight out the chute

Nigga down for whatever, still all about the loot

The property of poverty, the looters of youth

Now it’s denim on the leather while we’re removing the roof

The hog on the hog, With the Ds 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 death of me

Motherfuckers wasn’t respecting me

But I’m all up in your chest with heat

Giving you sideline bitter niggaz vasectomies

Til I rest in peace, Hustle the recipe

Your niggaz a bitch baby you need to sit next to me

Dub-Cuda, the bandanna dangler

OT counting dirty money with the hanky up

Dub got Shake the gators off you

Coming again please give me something to walk to

I can’t leave see, for all of my niggaz

Who don’t wear tight jeans up their ass needs me

Went independent last CD

Still sold a shitload of records no radio or TV

And I’m sticking to the program

Chucks on the concrete while the Cadillac door slams

The W was my star symbol

My jams make niggaz get down Like barrels out of car windows

I’m a nut for Cheese and chuck T’s

Addicted to big butt cheeks and weaves

Not a pop artist but I’ll pop they heezy

A branch of the same tree as Pac and Eazy

Bumping Jam Master Jay and Biggie

Iron on the stove, shaking up the Starch Can spraying my Dickies

Now who that nigga quick to shoot it?

(Who?)

Cap at the truest, the closest to the streets to do it

Me, The Deep Fisher in this rap shit I’m a vet

In a blue profile, tied around the neezeck

Your future baby daddy I might be

You ain’t never been with a nigga like me

Baby slide me you number I’ll 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 majority

I’m the reason these rappers keep security

I go hard kick gears and jump cars

Chucking up the hood, three wheeling in your front yard

You niggaz is temporary, Facebook Gangsters I put faces on obituaries

Nigga, Dub-Cuda, the Bandanna dangler

OT counting dirty money with the hanky up

Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about

Talking.

Talking.

Talking about, Talking about

Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about

911, it’s the Barracuda, wanna loose

Of the good and a juice

The passion of a hustler, I got it

And if it ain’t about money, I don’t wanna talk about it!