Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Friday Night Cypher’ by 42 Dugg. 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 42 Dugg or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Ayy, ayy, ayy
Ayy, ayy, ayy
(Hit-Boy)
Ayy, this that Clipse sample, ayy (G.Ry got me)
F*ck that talking, let the clip slam ’em
Yellow bands around them hundreds, you know how much that is
Too much to give me cash, they had to wire me the back end
Niggas in here looking tough, you know that I got Mag in
Ask me am I only rapping, you know I got that bag in
Band man like Lonnie, want my head, come find me
Lil’ bro in that bitch chilling he ain’t tryna come home cocky
He comin’ home to a dollar and a mansion and a choppa
And a desert on a dirt bike, VLONE shirt and the Pradas
Big nigga fresher than you, f*ck you and your stylist
Paid 90 for my grill and lost it, that’s why I ain’t smiling
You got Sean, you got Hit, you got Grizz, Kash Dolla
Paint you red, throw you in the water
They gonna think you a lobster, nigga
Uh
I just dropped a kit, you dropped out of school
These hoes wanna be famous ’til they make the news
All my bitches winning, how it feel to lose?
Nigga tryna get the box like he finna move
Bitch, I’m at my pinnacle I used to shop at Pinnacle, your nigga still drink Pinnacle
Bitch, your taste is pitiful
I talk cash shit, you ain’t cash shit, call up Baby Choppa, Cash Kidd, and spend my cash, kid
You stay back like ad libs, I buy, I don’t ask shit, I pop shit and pop tags, bitch
This New Era be cappin’, uh
Me, Sean, T off that Pusha T, ain’t no pushing me, bro might put you on a tee
Dot my eyes and cross my T’s, bro might put you six feet or bro gon’ put you on your feet
But bro can’t put you on to me, A plus pussy worth a B, nigga, uh
You niggas ain’t with no B, f*ck outta here
I keep dying in my dreams, but life’s great when I stay woke
Bet you love dreaming, that’s the only time you ain’t broke
Try me, .40 make you back up off me like Dej Loaf and Big Sean
Get triggered down, Jhene Aiko
Gotta keep Glock in the fanny, nigga, you not finna ham me, huh
Put a body on a ratchet, I feel like Dr. Miami
Niggas tryna ride my wave like they stopping a taxi
On a six, in a Lamb’, but I’m not that bitch Mary (Helluva made this beat, baby)
Four-one
They counted me out, I came back with a vengeance
And back to back Benzes, back to back winning
Rap failed, oh well, gimme back my scale and a burn out cell, I’ll grow clientele
Four-one P, I don’t sell dreams, I wholesale P’s, want half’s nigga, don’t call me
Don’t insult me, wrist frosty, ’bout eighty what this shit cost me
Don’t worry, I’ll make it back before you sip coffee
I roll with hustlers n’ bosses, bosses n’ hustlers, had to find my hustle I was lost in the gutter
Got out that jam now its foreigns with the seats peanut butter
Bitch, it’s BYLUG for life, never crossing my brothers
(Let’s go)
(Helluva made this beat, baby)
I f*ck with 6 Mile, not too much the 7, they freed the 4s
That’s your bitch, huh? Well, get her together, she fucking bro
You know them road trips still bring a dub in, sub in
Even if the party was seven, the strip club ten
I’m all in this bitch, tryna tether, I’m throwing dubs still
I put her in the Bentley, mansion rent free
Told her keep the G-Wagen plain, don’t even tint these
Can’t be fucking with a lame, dawg, you got her head big
300 a line for the Wock’, I’m sipping red still
I know how the feds feel, I make it hard to catch me
‘Cause selling corn still, code word for reggies
I ain’t sign a deal yetm f*ck itm I don’t need ’em
Everybody with me eatingm free my niggas ’til I see ’em
He ain’t dead, we ain’t even jet back, ante up, bitch
Free them boys
(Shit hard)
(Where you at, Bo?)
We gon’ make it off the ave, get a half, then I shake it
Somethin’ like a bad habit, we ain’t have it, we gon’ take it
Came up off a fifty slab, now my bag big as yappers
Workers begging me for time off, asking me for raises
Took me six hours to count it, bubble wrap it up and tape it
All my bitches want allowance, plug asking me for favors
I been out of town so long, had to get reacquainted with the neighbors
On the block all these cash we been raking
Way before the rap when I was writing verses
We was beating up the Ike like I was Tina Turner
We was loading up the Glock and filling up the hearses
Now I’m preaching like it’s Sunday, tryna teach the sermon
Trying to teach ’em how to get it fill up they mama purses
So they ain’t standing in front of judge listing to the verdicts
‘Cause we was standing on the block thugging with the serpents
Get caught with Curtis Blow on me and they gon’ close the curtains
Million dollar cars you can’t merge in, BasedGod how I got my curse lift
She gon’ play her part so well you thought that she rehearsed it
Don life worship, holly temple, synagogue, tabernacle, churches
Yeah (Hit-Boy)
Look, I can’t even chill I get active, overdoing everything my best and worst habit
Shit be impossible ’til it happens, I never thought I’d see Kobe go before Magic
That taught me first, no seconds to waste, only waist I like is her legs wrapped around my face
F*ck you think she doing over here, watching Netflix?
Beard game, might just let it grow down to my necklace
I don’t hope for wins, I expect it, uh, adrenaline in me like it got injected
My girl said I got communication issues, no I don’t
I just don’t like sharing all my problems more than the results
I bring the plan back to my team, tell ’em go wild
God body, my physique, and my profile
I did every single goal that I wrote down, checked it off it’s old now
And that shit give me chills, f*ck I gotta take yours
I’m the originator, make it then I make more, written in stone, you can’t forge
You ain’t on my level even if we in the same building on the same floor
Oh boy, black out, dough boy, cash out, payroll
Contract maxed out, cash kid, cash cow, tapped in, I can’t tap out
Bitch, keep thinking I’m sleeping in, it’s Tony on the monitor, I see your ass creeping in
Little bitch, if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t exist, you get the gist?
F*ck a cease and desist, they shooting up seats in exits
Throwing plays to my bros, I’m leading the league in assists
Hop scotch, black top, I ain’t been skipping a step since
Real estate, Zillow every day, bitch, I might just change my profession
Dodged so many rainy days, it changed my complexion
Hang up on your ass and say I lost the connection
I turned out to be the man that I manifested
(Let’s go then)
Hmm, f*ck the bullshit, I ain’t here to make no friends, can’t get bool with me
Since an adolescence, I was ignorant, up in school tripping
Pistol at my desk, I was sitting up in school with it
Put your bitch hand in my corner pocket, play pool with it
She gon’ eat the dick, both balls licked, and do it to me (what else?)
Ain’t go to college, I ain’t want no pussy nigga rooming with me
Still coulda went to college, Sada ain’t no fool, nigga
Every clip we got extended, yellow Perkies look like minions
Put Church’s Chicken on you niggas, scrap them boys for half a biscuit
You know I like the burner but I’ll beat your ass, this shit personal, huh
Hit a nigga in his shit with this fifty or thirty, duh
(Yeah, go Royce)
Name a nigga out of the D as solid as me
I unlocked a lot of dollars, nigga, knowledge is key
I did it all without a college degree
I went from hottest signed artist, don dada, to G
Street lord, rock bottom, Godfather and P
D-Boy, Rottweiler, Sean, Sada and T
Standing on the corner three days, phone is on Motorola prepaid
Diadora or a gold Ellesses
These are ordered from the older East Bay’s
She either rolling with the owners or the lessee
A kind man knows a blind man holds grudges
A wise man knows a wise man knows nothing
I thought I told you mother fuckers I ain’t need a budget
I ride with them guys that society begrudges
We been thuggin’ worldwide got arenas buzzin’
We survived getting fronted by Ilina cousin
Before you could sell like Cole and Adele
Or go NFL, be Kobe or Kells
The plight of the rich is to throw you in jail
The fight as been fixed since the opening bell
And you know who posting your bail? Who promoting your L?
Who be hoping you fail? Nigga, Oprah and Gayle
Ignore the hate, show the world that we love the opps
Call Lyor great while they make rape Russell docs
Nah
(Okay, yeah)
(Hit-Boy)
Yeah (G.Ry got me)
Bitch, you have never said a clever line ever
You murdering in the booth is the furthest thing from the truth
Rest assured, I’ma treat this booth like I’m pealing off the plastic
On a pill bottle, I’m tearing the ceiling off, yeah
Ripping rappers like they were wrapped in Saran, bitch
And I’m strapped up with ammunition and single handedly taking over the game
Like I had an actual hand missing, but I only need one to clap
Animal ambition, the only butt-fucking way that your strapped is for cash
Wish you could slap in the damn clip in that motherfucking imaginary little hand gun you’re brandishing
Bitch, if you pull up with the stick, it’s a car with a manual transmission
The chances are low to none that I will overcome my bipolar one
Voodoo dolls, I’m just poking fun, pins to me are like loaded guns
When I’m holding one, if I’m just fiddling with it
This motherfucker discharges like me checking myself out of the fucking mental hospital
And I get off like an acquittal, I spit it, you critique it
It feels like I’m being belittled by midgets
It’s like holding a nuke or a damn bazooka
And walking right up in the middle of a little kids fucking pillow fight with it
You want smoke? I’m like hookah
Man, I remember back when I use to get jumped for my fucking Pumas, run home and go f*ck my room up
These streets will try to vacuum you up
That’s why the avenue where I grew up was 8 mile and Hoover (what?)
‘Cause it sucked like a Roomba but even if I would’ve went the indie route
I don’t have any doubt, I would still get blown like it’s windy out
Shoot ’til the clip is emptied out
This is the beginning of the ending but I’ll put another clip in and spit these rounds
If I dig deep down but I’m in my bag like Fendi
Who am I offending now?
Got so many fucking detractors, feels like I’m getting plowed
Had to put my money on a diet, I got too many pounds
You would think I’m turning pages the way that I’m flipping paper
Middle fingers, them bitches get to waving like friendly neighbors
I’m talking loot like I’m rioting, dick is so big I can’t fit the entire thing through a tire swing
I don’t think it would be logic for me to say I’m retiring
But I should say bye-bye, earthlings, ’cause I’m back on Uranus, fucking up this “Grindin” beat, yeah
I took the pain and learned how to put that shit into a song
You listen for flaws and strip it and try to pick it apart
So when I am rippin’, it’s hard to tell whether if it is really because
Of how offensive I am, or just what a bitch that you are
Like I never had to get my clothes at fucking St. Vincent de Paul
Like I don’t make sure every sentence and bar with a pencil is sharp, like I’m quick on the draw, yeah
So when I pull it, surprise, like Kendrick Lamar
You need to walk the Yellow Brick Road and find the chick with the dog ’cause y’all missing a heart
Plus your bitch is giving out brain like the Wizard of Oz
This shit is like sitting in the principal office, getting scolded for skipping
Y’all got detention tomorrow
I’m severe like Benzo withdrawal, bitch your skin’s gonna crawl
I’m invincible, I’ve been through it all, like I never thought about just ending it
‘Til I got pissed off and put a fist through the wall
My back was against, now I rap like I’m possessed, that’s nine tenths of the law
Oh
Oh, f*ck it