Santa Rita Weekend Lyrics - The Coup

Stepping up out of my cell 

With sandals and county blues, handcuffs and shackles 

Finna ride up on that Grey Goose 

Caught another case 

'Cause I was strapped with my nine 

And see these drawers that I'm wearing? 

Muthafuckas ain't mine, nigga 

Excuse me, homie, can I hit that mista? 

Niggas rollin' up indo outta toilet tissue 

Ain't this a bitch, some niggas are scared to hit it 

Fool I'm with it 

So phone check, nigga get the fuck off the line 

Before I stick your ass in here and have to do some more time, player 

Want to give me the strap 'cause I was strapped with a Glock 

I guess I got to sit my black ass right there and get shot see (Fool) 

But fool it ain't no going out 

See I keep storing clout 

And show these niggas what I'm all about 

See niggas screaming from cell to cell 

Snitches don't tell a party in hell a Santa Rita county jail 

Everytime I turn around everytime I look 

I'm considered to be a murderer, a crook 

Ali shook the world, I'm gonna shake my homies hand 

Three in the morning dressed in blue once again 

My size ten rest upon the concrete floor 

Heads bob real slow to a freestyle flow 

I dont know this masterplan can't understand 

Why there's more black folks in jail than Japenese in Japan 

But uhh, my eyes pink 

Sitting upon that bunk 

Thinking about them tickets 

Choking up on that funk chunk 

I draw a Snickers from my commisary bank 

Sunday, Monday came fool I'm out this holding tank 

But it makes me think the systems treating us like a merry go round 

One day you're chilling at home 

The next you headed downtown 

Peace to my hounds in the county, in the pen 

Once again its a Santa Rita weekend 

Just sitting up on the top bunk 

Watching the cell block row 

Just sitting up on the top bunk 

Watching the cell block row 

Seven zero seven case motherfucking number two eleven 

Stressing manifestin' tore up from the floor 

Penelope's gots me on the floor 

Accused of robbing a store 

Who you know nigga naybody? 

Besides which I refuse to answer any questions 

Without the advisory of my lawyer, Mr. Baker 

Pervin' off this boiler maker 

Let me go po po I'm innocent 

Mistaken, right, suppose all blacks look alike 

Thank you kindly sir 

You need to practice your professional better 

Never, run up on me again 

Bust a pattern be off into the wind 

Back up off me bitch 

Just the other day my cronies shot me a kite 

E-40 baby boy 

You becoming hella tight 

Clayback, Vacaville up there by Reno, Rita, Quentin, Folsom, Chino 

Just sitting up on the top bunk 

Watching the cell block row 

Its like yayo, mayo, weights and scales 

It don't mean shit when you're sitting in the county jail 

Is it my turn to tell the tale 

Of how I got popped and how my lawyer finna get me out, on the spot 

Slide the cell block, my homies give me love 

Some here for having gats 

Some here for selling drugs 

Sometimes you do your shit 

And ain't no second tries 

Look around there's hella motherfuckas that I recognize 

Oh, what's up man, I'm back again 

But its a temporary situation 

Taking weekend vacation 

Government incaceration 

I call myself working on a pay hike 

They calling me working on my third strike 

Psycyh, I can't go forward 

And motherfuckas can't ignore it 

'Cause all my peoples on parole 

In the pen or gotta warrant 

So it's some shit I done leaped in 

Damn another Santa Rita weekend 

Just sitting up on the top bunk 

Watching the cell block row 

Just sitting up on the top bunk 

Watching the cell block row