Lyrics Wuts That - B.I.C. , Nick Catchdubs

WUTS THAT
We all up in this bitch
WUTS THAT
Pack up the plats, pass me the gut bag
WUTS THAT (roll up)
It's 3: 59 nigga, take a sip, face a rip, all my homies in this bitch
WUTS THAT
We all up in this bitch (we in here nigga)
WUTS THAT
Pack up the plats, pass me the gut bag
WUTS THAT (roll up)
It's 3: 59 nigga, take a sip, face a rip, all my homies in this bitch
My nigga I'm the stoned bong ripper
Uptown rain hit you hard like liquor
Hi, bitch niggas, for you high pitched tenors, I'm the fuckin' tone setter
Heard you singing something real, sounding real falsetto
Head over heels for the mills, still
I'ma never chill 'til my bank account filled and my cat got a grill
All I do is feel up the meanest sluts, the cleanest cunts that fiend to fuck, and lean the
Blunts
Scheme with us and the Ds enough
Said your man need a gram cause he's a dub
Why you brought that bitch around, I'ma leave with her
Nah nigga you fucked up, I am a custie and a connect
I'm lucky I got the flow 'cause I'd probably smoke my whole pack (light it)
Now nigga WUTS THAT, you talking shit oh I didn't hear
Over the loud we smoking we getting high over here
Can't hear you nigga WUTS THAT
Ignoramus, talking shit won't get you famous
Put your opinion in your anus, and your name is? I don't give a fuck nigga
Same nigga from the jump, so jump ship
'Cause I swear I won't stop nigga you can hate me now
My niggas got no chill button, but chillin with your bitch, bitch nigga like break it down
Bronx bred, used to love Theresa from the Ursula bitches, giving bomb head
Now Ivy League bitches giving bomb head, and she ain't even have a clue that we on next
Bon appétit, rocket broccoli, got me leaked, can't imagine where I'm at (at home)
Olly olly oxen free, fuck that where the molly molly oxy be
Ppoppin in like what's popping, got a few cuff hoes tryna be options
Opting into my dick, young nigga 'bout his, what the fuck I care if I'm a little obnoxious
Fucked up, I need a buff blunt, like stop playing niggas know what's up
And if you ain't got chips nigga tough luck, 'cause I throw it up like I don't get enough love
At the MoMA, feeling like Hova, working on a blueprint, watch me take over
Nigga I strive under pressure, live from the Mecca
Going' in my thing until I'm lying on a stretcher
So let me paint you a picture, we on the couch in my crib
She snort blow off the records, when we fuck man I punch in her ribs
Poppin' the lid on all these ideas, with all of my sons no wonder they see us
They need us, they know us, they thought
I know you feeling a way but don't start
You aiming too far, you ain't gonna hit shit, though I been drinking and munching on biscuits
Your bitch wanna french kiss slow for that (not), tell one of my homies to hold my pack
(Hot)
If you want static then change the backdrop, if you ain't about it then hit the ragtop
Before you talk shit better get a laptop, in this bitch with a bunch of havenots
BOUNCE BOUNCE
Walking on you motherfucking bitches, baptism at the bar got 'em feeling so religious
Wasn't luck, it was physics, if they love you then they love you
I ain't better just above you, be a shame if I wasn't
And the sweetest of the purples keeps me coasting like a buzzard
Big shout out butta butta (butta butta!) he said hurry up and light it
Son don't fight it put your lighters up, the night is young, I'm feeling chilly
Hiding my drugs, promoters screaming WHO THE FUCK INVITED 'EM