| 52 carat blue diamond
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| Rhymin', interior designin', grindin'
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| You can shake cheddar like me on the mic
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| Hit your point, hold your money when you’re rollin’the dice, baby
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| Uhh. |
| either you go crash-and-burn
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| Or wake up in the morning with cash to earn, tiga
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| Check it homie get good with me If just i can find your hood again
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| Who is that in the car? |
| yo couldn’t be All the way out here, yeah Nicki t Russian, get the weed sparked
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| Get the party started
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| And watch yo back fo the shark
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| Nigga cold-hearted
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| We got bakin soda
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| All the way down in minnesota
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| We got bakin soda
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| Down in minnesota
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| I got a fetish for Adidas, boss
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| But I betcha don’t know what my Fila’s cost, do ya On chew, like dem baby pit bulls
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| And ain’t no way you can touch my… cool
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| The 12th floor at the Marriot
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| You know, me and my tigaz chill there a lot
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| Fetti
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| I sit alone when the mic’s on With Tyson every time that the fight’s on, kill 'em
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| I remember rhymes used to ride with nets
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| Flight at the midnight high with jets
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| You know Al Capone stretched tryi’to save the sets
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| And I’m teflon down, t shirts and gats
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| Rhymes you can taste, Rhymes, Rhymes galore
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| Rhymes you can buy at the candy store
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| You know who I am, I’m like credit card scam
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| Hot like tofu, greens and yams
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| Extra-curricula, netting that riddicula
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| Hit the cloud like the bear or the fiddila
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| Shouldn’ve lied, I coulda been a good friend to ya Now i got to get rid of ya We got bakin soda
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| All the way down in minnesota
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| We got bakin soda
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| Down in minnesota
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| I told my mom somethin’that made her cry
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| Looked her in the eye and said rappers don’t die
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| We not gonna have an’tour, but we gon get by So most of us gonna be in hell high, kickin'
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| Now put the rhyme on a triple beam
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| Now rock it up, and chop it up,
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| And try to grind into triple cream
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| Don’t get caught with the same scheme
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| Meaning don’t get caught with the same thing, King
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| It’s like you got to be bald
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| Cuz hoes and niggaz wanna see you go far
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| I think they mad when I ticks them off
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| But I’m a hyena so i got to laugh and break some off
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| The hot wax that’s real fatal
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| Sup’d up to perfection like a weapon on a turntable
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| They say Gretta’s got a new baretta
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| And he’ll be aiming his gat like a crooked letter, foreva
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| I hit the night like stormy weather
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| And if you brag about your freak, i’mma say mine’s way better
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| I rotate like the hands of a clock
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| And find ways to make my rap beat all on your block
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| You better knock on the door tiga
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| And lay them all on the floor tiga
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| Cuz i think they want more tiga
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| I blow em out like a flat tire
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| And hit the weed for Richard Pryor
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| Then call em all straight liars
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| The corks in me like the tail of a fox
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| So get the grease hot, nigga
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| Or your tigaz’ll be caught |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bakin' Soda In Minnesota , by - Andre Nickatina. Song from the album Cocaine Inc. (Cocaine Raps 1, 2, & 3), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп