Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
cupcakKe
Performer
Fantom
Performer
Elizabeth Harris
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Elizabeth Harris
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Fantom
Producer
Lyrics
It feel hot as hell in this studio, man
I feel like snatchin' off this wig, goin' crazy
It's finna get ugly for you hoes
They're like "cupcakKe, you gotta do more, why the fuck you don't do features?" (Ah)
'Cause it's no face, no case, that's why I don't do the shit, let me teach you
Got one call, keep the circle small, like the lace holes in your sneakers (on God)
I be a city girl, finna clap a bitch, chopper make her shake like Caresha
I'm on your block, boy, no JB, uh
Hella woke but I play sleep, uh
Want a verse? Gotta pay me
Ain't shit free, no JT
He got a mask on 'cause his breath stink, that shit ain't due to no COVID, hoe (hahahaha)
The draco puttin' holes in 'em, man, it look like I'm spellin' OVO
Man, Nicki ain't won a Grammy yet? That ain't sittin' right, that's hate
And my makeup be on beat, I bet Blueface can't relate
They say "You lackin' when it come to interviews," I say "Nah, nigga, I'm straight"
'Cause there's no need for The Breakfast Club if you already done ate
Like her nigga did on that one night I forgot to shave, that's weird
That nigga left the house with no facial hair but I sent him back with a beard
When I'm the hood, bro, I'm good, hoe, ehen they offer food and beers
'Cause these niggas got roaches do I just hold the cup and say "Cheers"
No, I don't wanna drink, give a fuck what you think
Yeah, my attitude stink but my pussy still pink
Walk in with a mink, drip hard like the sink
And the Glock get drawn on a nigga, black ink
Bitches so rude when I'm out with my dude
They be staring at him and they don't even blink
Fuck it, I gave her a black eye, no peas
Now that bitch don't even know how to wink
Now she Fetty Wap, while I'm getting guap, bitches so fraud when they speak
Think she fly, must be Spirit 'cause I swear to God, that's cheap
Told that bitch "Beat your feet, there's no way my nigga gon' cheat"
'Cause it's Rosa Parks on a nigga face, I ain't gettin' up from this seat (hahaha)
If you got somethin' to say, then say it bitch, and you better say it wit' yo' chest
Everyday, I make another bitch pissed, I'm like a walkin' pregnancy test
Shorty, I'm all the way on the top floor and you damn near front desk
It take one bullet, now you heaven sent, I'll let Keisha Cole say the rest
Niggas get a haircut and a Gucci belt, then wanna flex in they shitty clothes
Whole time, niggas money shorter than Tory Lanez on his tippy-toes
So slick with the shit, you can never peep when I'm out here givin' cold
Like, I can say "I got a booger," and that just mean wipe a nigga nose
Talk shit on the internet then I pulled up, she was hella proper
Since her brain so foggy, bring back Kobe, put her in the helicopter
And it's R.I.P, to his daughter, man, we gon' ball like Gigi
Foot on they neck, then they ass dead, these hoes elephant, Fifi, ayo
Hoes so silly, flow on Milli
Bitches turned out four-five big dealers
Pussy so trilly, he pay the billy
Then I let him fuck, um, no, not really
Everything is at stake like Philly
Tea so hot that it's finna get spilly
This for Chicago, 63rd Cosmos, but I got cribs in Hollywood Hilly
Last night, I met Karen, I had to beat the bitch out her cargos (stupid ass)
2020, niggas still racist but it 'posed to be 'bout what the heart shows
Black and white sense of unity, we could really look like a barcode
But right now, it feel like doin' laundry, can't mix the whites with the dark clothes
So, nigga, I'm not convinced
This that muhfuckin' opulence
If not me, who toppin' this?
No, we ain't shit but the opposites
Use your muhfuckin' common sense
In the face, I let the llama spit
Now she talkin' 'bout, "Let's make up"
Do I look like Rihanna, bitch?
"Please cupcakKe, please, can you take this shit ease?" (Nope)
I'm in my bag like I'm eatin' king crab, let me roll up my sleeve
These hoes irritate my soul, like seein' Air Forces with the creases (what are those?)
And you know I keep that .40, that bitch bussin' like Bernice, on God
Writer(s): Carter Brown Britz, Elizabeth Eden Harris
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