Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Blue C-Note’ by 2 Chainz. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 2 Chainz or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
You did it for the broads, I did it for the paper
Got a hundred styles, got a hundred acres
F*ck the police (f*ck ’em), hundred middle fingers (F*ck ’em)
And you a square nigga (f*ck ’em), you a chess table (F*ck ’em)
You be savin’ hoes (f*ck ’em), you be rest haven (F*ck ’em)
Got a lotta rides like a bus station
See my phone ringin’, see my diamonds danglin’
See the bitches blinkin’, blue c-notes,
All of ’em singin’, blue c-notes
All of ’em Franklins, blue c-notes
Spend without thinkin’, a tool without safety
I have ya broads taken, I have they heart achin’
Push start crankin’, new grill face it
New mill tastin’, straight without a chaser
Draws come from Macy’s, broads is confirmation
Same in different places, I run all the bases
You did it for the broads, I did it for the paper
I got a hundred styles, got a hundred flavors,
F*ck the police, hundred middle fingers,
And you a square nigga, blue c-notes
All of ’em singin’, blue c-notes
All of ’em Franklins, blue c-notes
Spend without thinkin’, ice on both pinkies
Mobile phone ringin’, blue c-notes
I did it for my dogs, I did for the skaters
I did it for the paper, my niggas still on papers
I got a hundred tats, I got a hundred million
I keep on switchin’ wifeys, you gotta uncle Phil me
Dreadlock rasta, hair like pasta
I don’t see what’s your problem, I need an eye doctor
Flying to them dollars, ducking fly swatters
Shoot ’em in the head, leave his mind boggled
Comin’ down the boulevard I’m on your avenue
A half a mill on my grill, you niggas snaggle tooth
Told some dead presidents I’m finna bury you
When it come to presidents I like ’em black and blue
You did it for the broads, I did it for the paper
I got a hundred styles, got a hundred flavors,
F*ck the police, hundred middle fingers,
And you a square nigga, blue c-notes
All of ’em singin’, blue c-notes
All of ’em Franklins, blue c-notes
Spend without thinkin’, ice on both pinkies
Mobile phone ringin’, blue c-notes
Got a hundred styles, got a hundred acres
Got a hundred tats, got a hundred skaters
You did it for the broads, I did it for the paper
I’m ’bout to buy a hog, I’m bringing home the bacon