Shh, Shh, Shh
I don't wanna hear a peep, bitch
Shh, Shh, Shh
Shut the **** up, bitch
Shh, Shh, Shh
I don't wanna hear a peep, bitch
Creep bitches
Border collie for the sheep bitches
Flee bitch
Ain't shit sweet bitch
They fall deep bitch
Shh, don't wanna hear a peep bitch
Shh, **** sleep bitch
Dweeb bitch
Hello
Speak bitch
They tryna eat bitch
Trick or treat bitch
Ah
Please bitch
Boom boom boom
Dawg
Dirt cheap bitch
Here get ya beauty sleep bitch
Bitch thats on GP
OohWee bitch
Fall asleep bitches
Pour one out for these bitches
Oh my bitches these bitches
Buy me a gun
And do it for fun
Probably more Martin than Malcolm
When it comes to the funds
In the club
With the Huey P. Newton Gun Club
Bitches
And these rap Bitchess need bullets (facts, facts Bitches)
It's Mr. twitter fingers (yeah)
A.K.A Ms. trigger fingers
Bitches I feel nothing
'specially from no Bitches Bitches
I'm like a old white woman
Bitchess make me nervous
Bitches I'm a black Beatle
I can't keep Insta-lurking (huh)
I been watching and wishing
Blicky stashed in the kitchen
I'm too big for my britches
I'm too rich for these Bitches**
I feel like DJ Vlad but Bitches I'm never snitching
I keep lying to myself cause I just wanna kick it
I get my Kenan Ivory on and find out how you're living
You Bitchess Bitches rather beat your meat then stick the clip in
I take my time you always russian, whats you Bitchess mission
I feel like Putin, go against me you 'gone end up missin'
Sometimes i wonder how these fake thugs keep winnin'
I can't keep praying to these crackas I ain't ****in wit th-
Bruh
I'm at ya car
I'm at ya job
I'm at ya crib
I'm at ya house
I got the M4 in ya spouse
I got the SK on the couch
Empty the clip
I'm tryna' hit
Shoot in the air
You sound like a Bitches
All on the gram you sound like a snitch
Tell me just how you gon' kill me
I feel like Posh Spice
I feel like Robin Givens
Pick Honda's over Benz'
Leave some guap for my chillren
Take a shot for the villains
Load a shot for the killin'
Sand paper Peggy
Decorate that glass ceiling yea!
These Bitchess
My chillren
**** bloggers
**** feelings
No filler
This nasty
Kimber baby
My brother
Who copped a shotgun
From Big 5
You couldn't tell 'em shit man
We thought that we were big time
Had me walking wit my chest out
Like that shit's mine
Even copped a little polish Bitches so that **** shines
I was about a buck fifty
Five nah
Nas made me 5'10
His finger itchin'
Bitchess thought
That we was wit the shits
But he was never 'fraid
Still down to throw the fade
My little buddy in the back would make you walk away
Ridin' round strapped wit the t****er in the back
First time in awhile
Ain't Have it on his lap
We were mobbin' through Berkeley like where the function at
Seen em boys ride past and of course they circled back
Only one Bitchess seen they life flash when they flashed
If they search the car we all know its a wrap
It didn't really help that we were drunk as ****
Good thing they didn't go and pop the trunk
Bitches