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Santa Rita Weekend

This song is by The Coup, features Spice 1 and E-40 and appears on the album Genocide & Juice (1994).

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Stepping up out of my cell with Santos and county blues
Handcuffs and shackles, gonna ride up on that Grey Goose
Coming out of a case 'cause I was strapped with my nine
They see these drawers that I'm wearing, muthafuckas, ain't mine, nigga

Excuse me, homie, can I hit that mista
Niggas blowing up in the while a toilet tissue
Ain't this a bitch, some niggas are scared to hear
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, playa
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 scoring 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 at Santa Rita County Jail

Every time I turn around, every time 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 don't know this master plan, can't understand
Why there's more black folks in jail than Japanese in Japan

But err, my eyes pink, sitting upon that bunk
Thinking about them tickets, choking up on that funk chunk
Witcha a snicker from my commissary bank
Sunday, Monday came fool I'm out this home change

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 down
Sam, peace to my hounds in the county in the pen
Once again, it's 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
Stressin', 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
Perming? of this wall and make 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 up high
We warn you baby boy, you becoming hella tight
Clayback back a building up there by Dreno
Rita, Quentin, also Gino

Just sitting up on the top bunk
Watching the cell block row

Nah man, I didn't want the chorus right here
I wanna throw that right down there
You know, that bass line (Geah)

It's like yeaoh, meao? weigh two scales
It don't mean shit when you'r sitting in the county jail
Is it my turn to tell the tale of how I got popped
And how my lawyer failed to get me out on the slight spot

My cell block, my homies give me love
Some here for having gacks, 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 incarceration
I call myself working on a pay hike
They calling me working on my third strike

Sike, I cant go forward
And motherfuckas can't ignore it, 'cause all my peoples on parole
In the pen 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


Written by:

Raymond Riley Wikipedia16


Santa Rita Jail Wikipedia16 / third strike Wikipedia16

External links