My Cup – E-40 – letras

(Chorus – 2x)I got my cup, I got my plastic cupI got my cup, I got my plastic cupI got my cup, I got my plastic cupYou got your cup (I got my cup)[E-40]One of these playas is doing they own thangAnd some of these playas is kinda the sameOne of these playas is unlike the othersNow it’s time to spit my gameI’m leaning, I got that purple colors brightnessMs. Buttersworth up in my white cup, white cupCodeine’ing, dropping that Swishahouse groove musicAnd I’m fucked up, and I’m fucked upA playa’s sweating, shoot dice up under the staircaseTalking hell-a-loud grabbing his balls and side betting like a veteranAll my weeples just come hard, reach into my pocketsPulled out a wad of money and I threw my dogs up on itIt’s expected, cause way back when I couldn’t affordWhen a playa like me was leaking, had my back like a ? boardNow that I’m eating, the game done blessed me maynEveryday is my birthday, I’m about that ice cream and cakeLooking for a batch with no pan andI’m a guerilla meals must like BrandyLike the R&B singer, Christian brother twistGetting gone, plastic cup in the traffic bumping this(Chorus – 2x)[E-40]Hickory dickory dockI dick the boost down with my dockI was on stuck, she was on topPour me some more in my cup[Suga-T]We working with a lot, can’t let em catch us slippingCan’t sit the cup down, can’t let em know we trippingI’ma keep a cup, full of Check-A-Hater juiceEyes behind my head, can’t let em catch me looseHe’s a fool, usually wanting to put it on meGot a low attention span, and the average can’t afford meI’m a boss chick, like that-that-that-that-that-thatAnd you are bossy uh, I got your back(Chorus – 2x)[E-40]Head, shoulders, knees and toesPimps, playas, hustlas, hoesSimps, haters, bustas, marksSaps, suckas, haters, sarsWell I’m at a park, at a club after darkAt a football game, your date in the parking lotThem hoochies know my name, I’m not a popsicleBut a fool, can you do the other side of the pimpStick and move, all about my uh paper routeWhen I’m drunk, that’s when my true feelings come outI ain’t no punk, you got your easmic stuffPlus some funk, in real life I’ll fuck you up