Miss Blaze - Five Senses

Hold On
Yeah
See bitches keep talking
And saying I’m this and that
Sneak dissing’ll get you whacked
I been solid I'm a tough bitch
Get to smelling ya' self
Get you touched quick
Oh, you got five senses
So you knowing who I’m fucking
And loving and Kissing
You don’t know who I’m fucking
And loving and kissing
I be cooking up shit
Ain' no chemist
Had to tell all these hoes I was different
I'm different, for real
Cook up, Mason!
I just cooked up this shit like in 40 minutes
I be thumbing through checks
Then I sort em' different
Tell that nigga come get him raw bitch
Pussy gotta em' like
Oh that don’t cost shit
Made him change up his ways got a different type
Look at me This Is It like I’m jacking Mike
I don't swipe with my own I just pull ya' card
I be talking my shit while rock the mic
Imma fuck up ya' life hit it from the back
Say this pussy da devil, Lil' hellcat
Ice my wrist, it’s gone slip
That’s a waterfall
Pretty bitch, make him not check the price at all
Told em' get off the block make it home the night
Gotta keep a street nigga, It’s only right
If he think he gone fuck, He start acting nervous
Told him get his ass up and turn off da' light.
And they heard I’m rapper
And I’m just pretty as fuck
So I cause a bitch a disservice
My nigga a rapper
So I’m a bitch in his songs
But he know not to say it in person
Cause shit can get hectic
And I'mma call Hector
To get a director
To film in our section
Cause' this shit movie
I do this for pleasure
I’m at the top
Bitch you could never
Oh, I'm the bitch you wanna stunt on
I just iced out my wrist like it’s Frozone
Ya' baby daddy want a boss bitch
How the fuck it’s him calling from yo' phone
I be swerving, I'm trying not to crash
200, it's stamped on da' dash
This why they mad
Cause' I be getting a bag
Running this shit like a Jag'
I be running this shit like an athlete
Shoot her down
He don’t want you, he after me
Told her watching who you clocking, Patek Philippe
If she play, she gone lay
Put her at my feet
If I waddle, my belly still flat
Pockets pregnant, they toting his racks
Told him speed up the beat, when I slow it down
Had a dream he had took me to Poundtown
Had a thought we made love fore’ our show start
Made him give me that work fore' we go out
Told em' don't play this shit for my mama
This ya' answer, Her daughter a problem
He’s been labeled a bum
He couldn’t make me cum
Ran through his pockets, Patek on my arm
Nigga pay for this clout
Cause' it ain’t free
I spend what you make plus 400 the fee
Huh
See bitches keep talking
And saying I'm this and that
I been solid I'm a tough bitch
Get to smelling ya' self get you touched quick
Oh, you got five senses
So, you know who I'm fucking
And loving and kissing

Written by:
Triniti Simmons

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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