Текст песни Bitchez - YG feat. Rj

Too many bitches
Still, there ain't enough bitches
I handle my business
Can't handle your bitches?
On my mama, I'm on
On my mama, I'm on
On my mama, I'm on
Bitch nigga say what?
Remind me of my slut
Don't make me drop my nut
And I'm on up
All raw, uncut
Broad in pocket, don't touch my bucks
Business, get some, she on the line, like five, and one
Pop things like five, dozen, huh?
Said she ready to go
Hold up, I got a show
You boys like hoes, niggas like bitches
MOB wonder why I ain't with ya?
I ain't got time, handle my business
All play not work, that's a low key scrimmage
Girl named Lindsey, girl named Molly
They both like me, we all like money
The end of my senses
I ain't cuffin no bitches
Like I've been to San Quentin
I'm on my fitness
Got all kind of bitches
Work 'em out like a gymnast
You niggas like bitches
All in my dentures
Remind me of my dentist
Man I got bitches
Too many bitches
Still it ain't enough bitches
I handle my business
Can't handle your bitches?
Keep 'em out my business
Man I got bitches
Give me a pill I might pop one
Give me a collar, might pop one
And I trust no bitch, they might got something
I fuck you with condom, bitch that ain't my son
Yeah - they got the homie for a hot one
In these dank damn I'm tryna flock one
Give me this, give me that, fuck no, you a rat
I ain't no trick, suck on this dick, and
Fuck on my clique, like that, yeah straight up
Them basketball wives just tryna have you niggas pay up
Ho, slut, ratchet – I'm going HAM 'till they put me in the casket
And I'm packing, pimping and macking
Pull it out and get cracking
Look - I got rich bitches and them bitches got bitches
And I'm giving your mama my digits
Bitch got bitches
Bitch, bitches got bitches
See, I'm at the function
Front row, got it jumping, show trap and I'm funking
Homie, you a woman, probably really want a husband
Bet you feel it in your stomach, hoes get nothing
But some dick and instructions, I don't need no interruptions
So we get scrumptious, man, always into something
Don't forget the motherfucker, that's my introduction
I'm out here hustling, you off the lean, I'm struggling
Cut it with percussion, start the whip with a button
No keys, just touching, microwave oven
Leave the cooking for the bitches
Unless I'm cooking up a pigeon