Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Malcolm Carlisle
Malcolm Carlisle
Vocals
Kimbrya Mccraney
Kimbrya Mccraney
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Malcolm Carlisle
Malcolm Carlisle
Songwriter
Kimbrya Mccraney
Kimbrya Mccraney
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Malcolm Carlisle
Malcolm Carlisle
Producer

Lyrics

Mansion party in Cali, Calabasas
On bitches' ass like balabasas (Like what?)
Pussy sweet like lefty taffy
We hand out L's, don't get called ass (Oh God)
Opps the red eyes, straight to traffic
Pumbell, straight to bitches (Hahaha, brrt, brrt, brrt, come on)
Pumbell, straight to bitches' ass
These **** come and go
My trap still roll, I'm still gon' stack my dough (Oh God)
Streets know I'm that bitch
One thing for sure, can't treat me like no hoe (Uh-huh)
And we take **** out
Like they ordered this beef shit to go (Let's go)
Cuttin' this pipe, make my shoulder lean
You'll think I was barfin' drunk (Oh God)
California bossin' over dinners
Bad bitch, a lot of love for her (Bad bitch, a lot of love)
Took some pills but I'm still winnin'
Turn myself into your plug, plug (Turn myself into your plug)
I just bust a drill with some thick shit (Yeah)
This Zydeco, got my wrist lit (Oh God)
You ain't one of mine, get your bitch hit (Yeah)
I put all my opps on a shit list (Pump it)
Got a brown bitch lookin' like a tiger
Hundred thousand up and I ain't need lines (Yeah)
This ho' all water like I'm fire fighter
Roll to thirty thousand, they don't tell time (Oh God)
I'll catch one, do the strikers
Choppa on me, I look like a biker (Ayy, ayy)
Ate the bitch up like a sniper (Yeah)
But she got a big Lisa Dine (Oh God)
Real gangster, put that on the Bible (Put that)
Play with fat, one of them **** dyin' (Yeah)
Cheated on her, she don't be outside (Yeah)
I wanna see the kid, I wanna see his spine (Oh God)
I got shit for sale, don't call this phone
Unless you buyin' (The fuck?)
Hold up, I couldn't see a picture with him no more, I went blind (I can't see it)
I ain't the type to cuff you, no way, ho
Go catch up with your kind
Ain't gon' tell no **** I love him
Well, I probably did, but I be lyin' (Hahaha)
Chains 'round my neck, hen' swangin', swangin' hen', they fine (Yeah, yeah)
Got Jackie in the booth, right now, I'm just in her rhyme (The perfect)
And I can't put no title on what we is, you might get too entitled (Yeah)
And I don't even like you, you just got a little money or whatever (Woof, woof, woof)
Won't catch me without my shooter
That's like watchin' Ken with no cap (Make the fuck?)
Christian on soda
Like, he been watchin' Ken and Kat (Like what?)
Everything bitches do, non-profit, they should work for the man (Bro)
And I don't ask him 'bout no other bitch at all, he know I keep it plain (True)
Damn, he dancin' like a ballerina (Alright)
Pipe spinnin', I just cut the dub (Shh)
Trap hotter than a jalapeno (I'm dyin')
Your hood was hot 'til I made it flood (Skrrt)
Lil' pocket filled with number blues
**** wasn't fan 'til I hit it good (I'm K.R.R.T)
Trap **** still a fuckin' scrub
I'ma shut up all them **** just because (Skrrt)
Damn, he dancin' like a ballerina (I'm dyin')
Pipe spinnin', I just cut the dub (Shh)
Trap hotter than a jalapeno (I'm dyin')
Your hood was hot 'til I made it flood (Skrrt)
Lil' pocket filled with number blues
**** wasn't fan 'til I hit it good (I'm K.R.R.T)
Trap **** still a fuckin' scrub
I'ma shut up all them **** just because (Skrrt)
Written by: Kimbrya Mccraney, Malcolm Carlisle
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out

Loading...