| It’s a staring artist, in need of racks
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| You heard him too? |
| I’ll drink to that
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| Sittin' at the beach, drinking like a fish
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| Fit the privilege, arguing with my bitch
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| She said I need to quit, or find another groupie
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| Then she took the car, made me ride the munie
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| Bottle gone, at the bus had to hobble on
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| Like a real wine-o, gettin' my wobble on
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| End of the market, busy drunk talking to the homies
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| Listen tellin' Lauren diggin' in the garbage
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| Fuck, like I’m not a star
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| Lookin' for another card, free ride on the cable car
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| From brown to white, China Town on the hype
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| Patron shot after shot, no water and Sprite
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| Lookin' for a fight, runnin' up on tourists
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| Not too aware, but I’m for sure, ripped
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| See me on one, let me be me
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| You better calling SFPD
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| What time is it? |
| what day it is?
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| How the hell I end up it the baby crib?
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| I don’t drink much, but when a nigga do
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| I get drunker than a pirate in a sailor suit
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| I’m on a bar with a bottle in my back pocket
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| Me and Paul Masson, just left crackin'
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| We about to go kick it with Brandy
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| Her and her little sister Landy
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| At 11:45, at my pier at 39
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| Had the bar at a dime, with a beer and a lime
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| Somebody try to draw the line I try to stop the cakes
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| Soon as the bottle hit my lips I’m like Frank Buttes
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| Drunk at the curb, askin' for my money back
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| Slurring words, yelling «what the look you fuckin' at»
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| Now everybody lookin', like ain’t that a bitch
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| I’m at the 'Niner game, in that Raider fit
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| At the Giant’s game, in that A’s hat
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| When people flip me off, I just wave back
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| Yeah, I know the club owner, I like to rub on her
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| I’m in the crib with 3 shots and a cold Corona
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| I run laps like the 500 Daytona
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| Tell I find fine women, wanna know my persona
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| Then I’m on her like a light switch
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| The right bitch, that’ll try to fuck a dyke bitch
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| I take her out to Candlestick
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| Get another 50cs she can handle with
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| That nigga B-Le, he be on that black
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| Cognac, Hennessy, yeah he fuck with that
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| I seen him at the Glass Cat
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| Gettin' splat at the back, it was hella racks
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| And, boy if you only knew
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| What I do, when I ride through them avenues
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| I’m talkin' 21, 22
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| My heels on, she about 6 in the few
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| I let them know what the thing do
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| We brought our shoes on so it cool, baby, act a fool |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Drunk In San Francisco, artist - San Quinn. Album song A Hustler's Hope, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп