Max Margiela & RositaCashLinda - Whole Lotta Bitches

All my girls flew in on the choppa
Bad bitches long inches no drama
They hustlin', making they commas
Flew out just to eat in the Bahamas
But don’t worry we’ll be back
Hoes said it was on sight
I’d love to see that
Broke bitch beefin' w herself
Is she on crack
I don't pay her no mind
That’s a backtrack
Only bang with the same clique
Nobody is a get-dick-quick chick
That’s why they nana smell like a fish stick
Cause they don’t check who they let dip ol’nick
Shoulda kept your mouth shut
Don’t feel bad for this dumb slut
Pussy built like a doughnut
My WAP taste like coconut
If you mad hoe just say that
I’m not one for the chit chat
You know I’m a pussycat
Don’t press me you’ll end up scratched
Whole lotta bitches don’t like us
Sneak dissing but don’t ever wanna fight us
Throwing shade
We the best don’t try us
Zoom in the HOV, you wait for the bus
Whole
Lotta
Bitches
Hate us
I don’t
Understand
Get your cake up
You need a blessing
Girl, your life depressing
Take some notes from me
Girl point you in the right direction
Shut up and drive, you know I don’t play
They said I’m gay, that’s all they can say
I’m with the champagne you by the ashtray
Stop tryna compare we are not the same
Girl look wack
But her bum friends never tell her that
Got her looking stupid online
She a copycat
Tryna be me
Can’t amount to my impact
Not on my level
She can’t make eye contact
Slim in the front, thick in the back
Cowgirl, ride on him horseback
Helmet on, speed on him, racetrack
I got the pump, sis got the flapjack
Checked into the telly in Tokyo
Nothing but skin under my kimono
He said I'm a hot girl
Bitch I know
It don’t come free, gotta make that dough
Keep talking, we ballin'
Spent a check on a bag, don’t worry we got it
Spent your last on some rags
No money for the rent or the lights or the car sis
Shake shake that ass hoe
Gyrate that ass hoe
Whine on that man hoe
Grind on that man hoe
Follow my tips you gon leave rich hoe
Get that bread and leave, he a bitch hoe
Rosita said get your man, I said which hoe
Virgin Indian, 34 inch hoe
Imma show y’all how to get down
Have a broke bitch crying, mental breakdown
He feeling all up on my skin, caramel brown
Knockin' bitches out the park, out the playground
I just switched up my flow like six times
On the scale I get a ten, just like a dime
In the kitchen cooking rat bitches, dinnertime
And I’m in school, studying full-time
Whole
Lotta
Bitches don't like us
Sneak dissin'
But don't ever wanna fight us
Throwing shade, we the best don't try us

Written by:
Christian Santana, Maximus Vicenty

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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