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M-Child

I Ain`t No Bitch, I Ain`t No Hoe

  rap  g-funk  memphis  tennessee  memphis rap
329,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни M-Child - I Ain`t No Bitch, I Ain`t No Hoe

M-Child - I Ain`t No Bitch, I Ain`t No Hoe слова песни

If you don`t back off, I`m killing myself. (x4)[M-Child]I think you pushed the wrong button, bitch.I self destruct, fuck the world, nigga talkin` shit.They call me the shit starter of the fucking clique.I represent O.M., Orange Mound, bitch.A bunch of hard-core motherfucking lyricists.Provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick.And ride steamer, gettin` blown for the fuck of it.I`m lovin` it, tell a hater straight, "Suck my dick."And giggle in your fucking face, `cause you lame, mane.And ride through your fucking hood and do the same thing.I test nuts when I`m high off that green and gin,And got some gold brass knuckles that`ll bruise a chin.They call me the M-Child, psycho fucking kid.I`m splittin` weaves tryin` to get a motherfucking gig.The shit I did or will do to a nigga,Really gon` leave `em scared,Standin` in a puddle of piss runnin` down his leg.[M-Child] [Chorus x2](If you don`t back off, I`m killing myself. [x4])I ain`t no bitch, I ain`t no hoe,I ain`t no bitch, I ain`t no hoe,Player hater you gotta go,Player hater you gotta go,I`m all about makin scrilla` and cookin` that green dough.[M-Child]I`m about stackin` grip,I go to church `cause I`m holy.People ask me what the M. stands for, because they nosey.I keep a lot of shit to myself, keep niggas thinking,What will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?Don`t fuck around nigga, don`t fuck around with me,I snap, crackle, and pop, like fucking Rice Crispies.You think it`s a game, a motherfucking talk show?Niggas laughin` like they ate a fucking Tickle-Me-Elmo.Get that grin up off you face,Get up out your paper chase,Make a bitch bounce that ass,Make her buy you birthday cake.It`s a new millenium, 2000, I`m on the rise,Better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries.I can make a nigga hot, make `em catch a bloody nose.When I hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose.Bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold,Lock down, twist `em up, and refuse to let `em go.[Chorus x2][M-Child]You better hang on my nig`, I`m gone, I`m in a zone.Microphone be on, better leave me alone.Straight hard-core shit, I`m bringin` it to your home,And to your tape cassette, CDs, or headphones.Eliminations for sure, we be comin` in a pack,Ready to attack, open up your back with a Gat.Lock down, close shop, fill up every crack.I ain`t givin` a nigga shit, not even a Scooby Snack.Yo` hater you comin` back, why you tryin` to take mine,I`ma turn into McGruff and take a bite out of crime.Fuck `em all, `bout one phone call, it can be done.Take `em out, `cause of low self-esteem, you on the run.Never fucking with your kind, `cause your kind pullin` stunts,I`ma beat your ass like you ate my Captain Crunch.Drag `em through the mud,Shoot your ass like a punk,You only came too deep,We bigger then Brady Bunch, nigga.

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