Lyrics

[Verse 1] Up in this crib Treat me like the cunt I deserve Get your hands off my hips You ain't got the moves to compete with me, sis You can't eat with me, sis We ain't breakin' this bread You ain't takin' this pic' You ain't part of this script, you illiterate bitch I'm biliterate, bitch (Huh) [Chorus] (Ah-ha) Get your hands off my hips (Ah-ha) Get-get-get your hands off my hips (Ah-ha) You illiterate bitch (Ah-ha) You can't eat with me, sis [Post-Chorus] I don't see that bitch (Huh) I don't see that bitch (Ah-ha) [Verse 2] Fashion killer, Bugatti at the door Assassinatin' on the runway floor Lady Prissy, lookin' at you in Dior Jet black weave from the stage to the car Then I'll lead with the allurе of the star Baddies, good face, givin' you good tastе Dripped in fine lace, never to complain If a bitch complains, that'll bein' a good thing I'ma have to hurt a bitch's feet when it's lonely Call 9-1-1, my time has come Oh, nah, nah, nah, your time is done [Bridge] True to us, make you everything Sexy, hell [Chorus] Get your hands off my hips (Ah-ha) Get-get-get your hands off my hips (Ah-ha) You illiterate bitch (Ah-ha) You can't eat with me, sis [Post-Chorus] I don't see that bitch (Huh) I don't see that bitch (Ah-ha) I don't see that bitch