I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama
Always got somethin' to say every time she don't get away Your whole life I done payed, with me, you had better days All them bags I brought you, it's a shame How the fuck you find time to still complain? Questionin' why I'm comin' home late, bitch, I put all the food on the plate Yeah, she stay bitchin' I'm like, "Shut the fuck up and clean the kitchеn" Love her from a distance Wе talk crazy to each other, that's part of our religion Tellin' your friends my business, you hella chatty You let my daughter leave with her head nappy I still do everythin' to make you happy You talk down on baby daddy
I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama
Always poppin' up with new friends That's the type of shit I ain't in Tellin' me how to spend my Ms But you tellin' me you want the new Benz If I call you out your name, that's a sin If you touch me, bitch, that's where it end I'm tellin' you we need a cleanse I'm tellin' you but you don't comprehend No good, burnt out from the hood Moved you to the valley, like a real nigga should My kids, good, how they live, good They don't eat pork, no pig, good You supposed to be a nigga ribs, can't no other nigga call dibs If I'm payin' for the crib, don't have another nigga 'round my kids
I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama (I hate my baby mama, I hate my—) I hate my baby mama
A-Always got somethin' to say (A-Always got somethin' to say) W-W-W-W-Whitney done had better days (W-W-W-W-Whitney done had better days) Q-Q-Que-Questionin' why I'm comin' home late (Q-Q-Que-Questionin' why I'm comin' home late) Bitch, I, Bitch, I put all the food on the plate (Bitch, I, Bitch, I put all the food on the plate) I hate my baby mamaTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
