Brian “Big Ba**” Gardner - Marinatin' lyrics

Hook: We Could marinate, get nice and and stack riches (But it's B.Y.O.B.) Bring your own bud, brew, and b**hes Ain't no set trippin', actin' ill and don't steal, for real (You got's to chill) Verse 1: I woke up in my Tommy Hilfiger boxers at 10 From a knock at the door, but why they at my door for? Oh! My peeps they got a half gallon, smiling My talons totalled ten one empty round from putting it down But now, my day is starting off CocaCola and Remy Martin Some of the homeys from L.A. and Carson want to throw a private party today Threw on some Gautier and my Rolex link dressed to k** like Bernard Goetz My squad flex like Lee Haney So its best I keeps myself on house arrest, Cause never know, maybe They might wind up at 429 Bauchet Locked away, plus can't keep the booty calls waiting I'm marinating Hook Dialed up some micehead to see what's crackin' tonight She said she just broke up with her man And since she free like Mandela, she bringina box of Philly pantellas Acapells, I game like Lou Piniella made sure to tell her Don't bring no fellas, cherral, girl you can braid the tweed And then you can show me how to do the pepper seed Agreeded, cause we get down like this on a regular, loungin' Watchin' bootleged tapes, shooting jokes, your choice of imported smokes Craps and Cee-lo on the patio for more chips than Bingo Chips like the MGM casino Just make sure your homegirl is single, so it's popping Cause ain't nothing worse than fifth wheels that's co*kblocking And knocking while I"m knocking talking about she ret' to go I want some of your brown sugar while I bump D'Angelo (Fo'sho) No special holiday, but sometiems just being alive is a reason for Celebratin So we mariniatin' Hook (x2) I get around like Dolby Pro Logic But running them streets too much get fools hated Incarcerated, or terminated At the house we safely intoxicated, Nonoxol-9 lubricated Playing questions, everybodys faded and now, we got the ladies undressing Like 1st King strippers bouncin' on n**gas balls like the LA Clippers The phone rang, my little shorty said "What you up to, boo?" Nothing, just chillin' like bruh-man on Martin do See only when I'm tipsy, when my words start slurring Do I get causght telling lies like Mark Fuhrman So I'll call you later drink was low, went to the stash and pulled out the XO The T.U.'s is down for whatever Let's run more trains than the metrorail but ya'll got to be out by two I'm getting sleepy and plus my boo is coming through So let the front door hit you where Ru Paul probably might And everybody asking what's up for tomorrow night Hook