I Cant Stand These Bitches Pt. 1

Lyrics

[Intro] The dawg [Verse] She see me in the club with all my J I'm way to fried I forgot my name, I hide my eyes with Prada shades She smiling won't get out my face, on Perkies going through a maze I pop two I start feeling strange, my bitch text me think I'm creeping She not bad she very decent YouTube check was like 10,000 I brought the bitch Balenciaga's lil' bro and em' still be sliding striker I crank the flame and heat the pot I call the bitch she call me dada Drench one bitch up in Hermеs, put a slut bitch in Givenchy Kicking P this shit exquis I make a Brad bitch pay attеntion, to up tight bitch what's the detention? Her head blonde she get Chanel, Fenty, skinu in good fragrance She from the birds but she like gangsters, her mama hate when she around me Wake up early Tuesday morning she got work, I got junkies calling Side bitch text me back to back I ain't Gon' man I really hate that Spark a Lucy clear my thoughts I start looking for my percs Grab my A's reach for my shirt My feint getting on my nerves Grab my cup cause I can't kick it I'm in the hood but I'm the ticket I make sure all my niggas winning lil' bro stayed down since the beginning I don't care how you get it long as you get it, she send a long ass text I ain't get it Send flowers to your job did you get them, it's a box on the doorstep bitch did you get it? She call me like "Papi you gotta be tripping", no I'm not bitch don't even open it If you already did bitch don't be smoking it, bitch always tryna stress me out My cup ain't never let me down, she say that "I don't show emotions I only love her when I fuck her, I only like her when we smoking She say "I'm way too indecisive", make my mind up she don't like it I don't wanna talk right now could you type it?, she said "For what cause you not going to read it" Cut your bullshit I don't need it, bitch tryna make me Russle Wilson this ain't that lil' hoe you tripping [Outro: Rx Papi & Nate Jones] Like word to bro It's a cool little- It's a cool little Sunday morning Heaven must have sent you, from the stars above Later on the night, go to the spot with all my J's No security that dog shit in my pocket, (Heaven must have sent you from the stars above) me and gang pull up cars back to back Sprinters, black trucks, foreigns whatever we do it's not boring (Out of all the women in the world) We really them ones this really that like it's real baby it's real like, you can blink tell your friend to pinch you it's real