Lyrics Stretch Marks and Cigarette Burns (feat. Panchi & Imani Montana) - Blaq Poet

Woo-han
What
Who han, Woo han
What up niggas
It's crazy
Yo Panchi
Call Sha
Call Premo
Tell them let's meet in the club
Yo

I came in the club with a couple of goons
We was already drunk, now we're smoking the [?]
Little shorty on the stage, she was wilding, dancing
Whole motherfucking crowd screaming, chanting
"Move something, shake something
Break something, bitch"
I was like "Oh shit, what the fuck they're saying?"
But shorty don't care 'cause she had these niggas paying
Had them niggas laying out all their bread
Had them niggas standing on their motherfucking head
Had them niggas waiting on line for their turn
Niggas love stretch marks and cigarette burns

"Move something, shake something
Break something, bitch"
I was like, "Oh shit, what the fuck they're saying?"
Stretch marks and cigarette burns
"Move something, shake something
Break something, bitch"
I was like
("Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?")
Stretch marks and cigarette burns

Yo this is for my bitches in the shelters who don't need shelter
You're just doing that shit for a crib
And all my bad little bitches, if your baby father hit you
Stick that ice cold knife in his ribs
And all my bitches pimp the system, [?] tell your workers
Fuck that, you gon' have more kids
And you ain't have them 'cause you need them, but now, you got to feed them
So you figure that your ass gonna strip
In the club setting, niggas dancing, bra sweating
As the bass booms, more sweat consumes
And you wonder how thousands can fit in a room
The speakers is bumping 'til it damn near pop
These hoes is dancing 'til they damn near drop
But I sit back and observe the whole scenery
And nonchalantly tell you what it mean to me
The filer says no boots and jeans
I'm in the back blowing trees, dipped in army fatigues
Little bitch on my back, when will I learn
Not to fuck with stretch marks and cigarette burns

("Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?")

Got love bitches, sliding down the pole bitches
Twelve to four bitches, don't matter, you're my bitches
Stretch marks and cigarette burns, alright, bitches
Can't knock your grind, live your life, bitches
Get money, be the best at what you do
Cocksucker want to judge, tell them, motherfuck you
You done mastered the art of this seduction shit
See homie came tonight but hopes he can fuck your shit
[?] nigga [?] screaming we don't love them hoes
Type to question why [?] dance to her pole
But he fucking with [?] but she buying him clothes
Telling ass nigga, G's don't take you on the road
In tune with the soul, can't tell me nothing
Have a man [?] lick it up, fronting
Who you think you fooling, look at you drooling
Love what's she doing, what is she doing
Top on the pole, thick, legs in a split
Working her way down like she's riding your dick
Now you want to lick every burn and stretch marks
What else can I say, we the best, ma