[Intro: JT, Yung Miami] Y'all hoes done fucked up Bitch, don't make me come out, wig in a rubber band (Band) Wait Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit I'm talkin' to you ho Y'all hoes better turn up
[Verse 1: Yung Miami] Enough is enough, bitch City Girls with the fuck shit Nah, don't blame it on you drunk bitch (Nah) See we can wylin', hoe The whole clique gon' follow hoe (Bitch) Be at your door like dominoes And your main nigga love me (Haha) Bruh been tryna fuck me For the bread, walk him like a puppy (Walk him) It ain't no love for you both side playin' hoes Play with your kids or the radio, bitch Another comma, millionaire status A cool one, twenty on the Patek Dope bitch, magic I live a poor bitch dreams (Yeah) Coco Chanel me, please
[Verse 2: JT] Y'all hoes too dangerous (Dangerous) In my comments, talkin' crazy (Crazy) But I can't make no bitch famous (Nah) City Girls ain't changing But shit, how could you blame me? (Blame me) Bein' me made me famous Titties sittin', no sports bra (Yeah) Fuck a nigga in a sports car (Skrrt) Spike his drink at a sports bar Y'all hoes make me sick Always cuffin' tricks Calling phones, talkin' slick Lil' bitch, who taught you? Mama should abort you If you in my view, I would've pulled up and fought you But I'm way up, you bitches too low New ass, new teeth, bitch, check out the glow (Period)
[Outro: Yung Miami] Bitch, don't make put my wig in a rubber band (Band) Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit (Fuck shit) Y'all hoes better turn up
[Part 2] [Verse 1: JT] Didn't think bitches like us could do better From Dade County, straight to Coachella My heart cold, better bring two sweaters And your best bitch, we'll take whoever Gutter bitch, grace the cover of the billboards Locked up, nominated, BET awards City Girls, talk that shit they scream Real ass bitch, I ain't flex for streams I'm fresh out, niggas comin' in varieties I'm fightin' loss, fightin' demons and anxiety I really used to sleep on palettes Now I'm sittin' in the condo like it's a palace
[Verse 2: Yung Miami] Main bitch locked up, had to hold it down (Down) With a baby in my stomach at the Rolling Loud (Facts) Uh, kept you bitches out my game room (Period) 'Cause y'all the same fake hoes from The Shade Room (Shade room) I came from runnin' outta stores to awards shows (Blessed) Momma we made it, can't wait 'til you come Shoutout my [?], I was seven months (Damn) Me and baby son was too blessed up (Blessed up) Now everybody want a verse from us All the trappers wanna go and cop a purse for us Bought a bag to the hood when I touchdown (Touchdown) Did this shit for Dade County', yeah we up now
[Outro: JT] Miami, don't make me put this wig in a rubber band again (Wig in a rubber band again) Still the same, ain't changed, just changed where I live (Changed where I live)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
