Y’all hoes done f—– upB—-, don’t make me come out, wig in a rubber band (Band)WaitSlap a b—- down with the f— s—I’m talkin’ to you hoY’all hoes better turn upEnough is enough, b—-City Girls with the f— s—Nah, don’t blame it on you drunk b—- (Nah)See we can wylin’, hoeThe whole clique gon’ follow hoe (B—-)Be at your door like dominoesAnd your main n—- love me (Haha)Bruh been tryna f— meFor the bread, walk him like a puppy (Walk him)It ain’t no love for you both side playin’ hoesPlay with your kids or the radio, b—-Another comma, millionaire statusA cool one, twenty on the PatekDope b—-, magicI live a poor b—- dreams (Yeah)Coco Chanel me, pleaseY’all hoes too dangerous (Dangerous)In my comments, talkin’ crazy (Crazy)But I can’t make no b—- famous (Nah)City Girls ain’t changingBut s—, how could you blame me? (Blame me)Bein’ me made me famousT—— sittin’, no sports bra (Yeah)F— a n—- in a sports car (Skrrt)Spike his drink at a sports barY’all hoes make me sickAlways cuffin’ tricksCalling phones, talkin’ slickLil’ b—-, who taught you?
Mama should abort youIf you in my view, I would’ve pulled up and fought youBut I’m way up, you b—— too lowNew a–, new teeth, b—-, check out the glow (Period)B—-, don’t make put my wig in a rubber band (Band)Slap a b—- down with the f— s— (F— s—)Y’all hoes better turn upDidn’t think b—— like us could do betterFrom Dade County, straight to CoachellaMy heart cold, better bring two sweatersAnd your best b—-, we’ll take whoeverGutter b—-, grace the cover of the billboardsLocked up, nominated, BET awardsCity Girls, talk that s— they screamReal a– b—-, I ain’t flex for streamsI’m fresh out, n—– comin’ in varietiesI’m fightin’ loss, fightin’ demons and anxietyI really used to sleep on palettesNow I’m sittin’ in the condo like it’s a palaceMain b—- locked up, had to hold it down (Down)With a baby in my stomach at the Rolling Loud (Facts)Uh, kept you b—— 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 comeShoutout my [?], I was seven months (Damn)Me and baby son was too blessed up (Blessed up)Now everybody want a verse from usAll the trappers wanna go and cop a purse for usBought a bag to the hood when I touchdown (Touchdown)Did this s— for Dade County’, yeah we up nowMiami, 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)