Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song All Around The World, artist - Cuban Link.
Date of issue: 17.01.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
All Around The World |
Yeah yeah |
Terror Squad what-what |
Cuban Link what-what |
'99, baby |
Yo ladi-dadi, mami, I love to party |
Plus I always cause trouble when I guzzle Bacardi |
Got the hotties sippin rum, Maseratis with the stumps |
Music bumpin out the trunk. |
everybody’s gettin drunk |
From the Bronx, settin, lettin it all out |
No doubt, toast your coast |
Reppin the east, west, north, south |
Now it’s all about the Terror Squad, ghetto superstars |
Extra-large players like Kareem Abdul Jabbar |
Word to God, Pun, my crew won’t give a fuck who you are |
We do our job like we part of the mob, shoot up the bar |
Cuban the Don Daddy like John Gotti |
I brung a long shotie for the chump bodies |
If it’s on it’s on, mami |
It’s Mister Cuban Link, baby, comin through with the hits |
Gettin love from the ladies while my crew in the triz |
And this goes out to the players, thugs, hustlers and pimps |
(We run shit) |
All around the world |
You know I do my thing, baby, Cuban Link full eclipse |
Terror Squad, new era, god, better choose who you with |
When we flip ain’t no tellin what we do to your click |
(We run shit) |
All around the world |
Villainous Terror Squadian, Bacardi dark got me crashin the party |
Undressin hotties to take it all from the drawers to they Barbie bits |
Pokin up in your? |
vaginal? |
flow in Carhartts and Timbos |
Thuggin it with a limp, cause Cuban Link is known to pimp hoes |
Gettin bimbos from all angles, mandingo straight out the combo |
From a bedroom I needed gettin head in a Durango |
Grab your ankles, do the hula-hoop your culo while I do ya |
Nothin’s cooler than fuckin while you’re puffin a bag of buddah |
Don the Cuba’s got your cura, schoolin juniors like butuvas |
Smooth as Luther when it comes to suckin hooters like a hoover |
Who the man now? |
Impressed so many mamis, I can’t count |
Holdin my count down till the last round, hands down |
No question I blow your chest in with a Smith & Wesson |
You’ll be dead in less than a second — reckon |
Better listen, my weapon, step in my sessions for lessons |
Lasting impression, destined to be the best in this profession |
I’m runnin ralleys from New York to Cali up in a Caddy |
Puffin like Daddy with paddy, baggin the weed up in the backseat |
Crackin forties, actin naughty, tellin em shorties, havin orgees |
Watchin pokeys with four freaks — now that’s me |
I be the nasty cuban, slammin like I’m Patrick Ewing |
Pass me a bag of weed, a brew, and the track that we’re doing |
For you and yours, full of glitter style |
Showin all my skills like a stripper, baby, hit me with some shit for now |
Break it down, hit the ground, move your hips around |
Make it bounce, shoop and sit down on my dick and do the brown |
If you down we can bounce right now, pick up a pound |
Enjoy and lounge with style, y’all know my name by now |
No doubt |
Cuban Link, baby |
Terror Squad |
All you fake-ass niggas |
Tryin to be like us, talk like us |
But you could never walk like us |
Fuck around and get outlined in chalk |
Terror Squad |
Joe Crack |
Big Pun |
Prospecto |
Armageaddyo |
Triple Seis, what? |
Raoul |