Lyrics

Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money You wanna sip Mo' on my living room flo' Play Nintendo with Cease and Nino Pick up my phone say "Poppa not home Sex all night, mad head in the morn' Spin my V, smoke all my weed Tattoo on tittie saying "B-I-G ". Now check it: You wanna be my main squeeze, baby Don'tcha? You want to give me what I need, baby Won'tcha picture life as my wife? Just think Full-length mink, fat X and O links Bracelets to match, conversation was all that Showed you the safe combinations and all that Guess you could say you'se the one I trusted Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard? Shit got hot: you sent Feds to my spot Took me to court, tried to take all I got Another intricate plot, the bitch said I raped her "Damn, why she wanna stick me for my paper? My Moschino ho, my Versace hottie Come to find out you was fucking everybody You knew about me, the fake ID Cases in Virginia, body in D.C Woe! Oh is me - that's what I get for trickin' Pay my own bail, commence to ass-kickin' Lick in the door, waving the .44 All you heard was "Poppa don't hit me no more! Disrespect my clique, my shit's imperial Fuck around and made her milk box material You feel me? Sucking dick, running your lips Cause of you, I'm on some real "Fuck-a-bitch " Shit Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Fuck bitches, get money Fuck niggas, get money Niggas better grab a seat Grab on your dick as this bitch gets deep Deeper than the pussy of a bitch 6 feet Stiff dicks feel sweet in this little petite Young bitch from the street, guaranteed to stay down Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound Now I'm Billboard, now niggas press to hit it Play me like a chicken, thinking I'm pressed to get it Rather do the killing than the stick-up jukes Rather count a million while you eat my pussy Push me to the limit, get my feelings in it Get me open while I'm cumming down your throat Then, you wanna be my main squeeze, nigga Don'tcha? You wanna lick between my knees, nigga Don'tcha want to see me whippin' your 3 down the Ave Blow up spots on bitches because I'm mad Break up affairs, lick shots in the air You get vexed and start swinging everywhere Me shifty? Now you wanna pistol whip me Pull out your 9 while I cock on mine Yeah, what nigga? I ain't got time for this So what, nigga? I'm not trying to hear that shit Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits Adrienne Vittadini and Chanel 9 boots Things that make up for all the games and the lies Hallmark cards saying "I apologize Is you with me? How could you ever deceive me? But payback's a bitch, motherfucker, believe me Naw I ain't gay, this ain't no lesbo flow Just a lil something to let you motherfuckers know
Writer(s): Christopher Wallace, James Bedford, Sylvia Denise Striplin, Roy Ayers, Lamont Porter Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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