Chris Brown, Lil Wayne and Tyga - Loyal

Young Mula, baby
(You thought it was over?)
(Let me see)

I wasn't born last night
I know this hoes ain't right
But you was blowin' up her phone last night
But she ain't have a ringer nor her ring on last night ooh
Nigga, that's that nerve
Why give a bitch your heart, when she rather have a purse?
Why give a bitch a inch, when she rather have nine?
You know how the game go she be mine, 'bout half time, I'm the shit, ooh
Nigga, that's that nerve
You all about her, and she all about hers
Birdman Junior in this bitch, no flamingos
And I've done did everything but trust these hoes, C.B. fuck wit' me

When a rich nigga want you
And your nigga can't do nothing for ya
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal
Whoa, these hoes ain't loyal
Yeah, yeah, let me see

Just got rich (got rich)
Took a broke nigga bitch
I can make a broke bitch rich
But I don't fuck with broke bitches
Got a white girl with some fake titties
I took her to the Bay with me
Eyes closed, smoking marijuana
Rolling up that Bob Marley, I'm a rasta
She wanna do drugs (do drugs)
Smoke weed, get drunk
She wanna see a nigga trapped
She wanna fuck all the rappers

When a rich nigga want you (want you, baby)
And your nigga can't do nothing for ya (nothin', oh)
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal (no they ain't)
Whoa, these hoes ain't loyal
Yeah, yeah, let me see

Black girl with a big booty
If she a bad bitch, let's get to it (right away)
We up in this club, bring me the bottles
I know girl, that you came in this bitch with your man
That's a no no girl
All this money in the air
I wanna see you dance

Just got rich (got rich)
Took a broke nigga bitch (yeah)
I can make a broke bitch rich
But I don't fuck with broke bitches (uh-huh)

When a rich nigga want you (want you, baby)
And your nigga can't do nothing for ya (no, nothin', no)
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal (oh no)
Whoa, these hoes ain't loyal
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let me see

(Ha) rich young nigga
Name got bigger and my change got bigger, so my chains got bigger
Ferrari, Jaguar, switchin' four lanes
With the top down screamin' out, "Money ain't a thing"
Ha, me and CB in the Bay with her (Bay with her)
I sent her back home so you can lay with her
Okay, let's talk about this ice that I'm carryin'
All these karats like I'm a fuckin' vegetarian
Shout-out Weezy F., keep a redbone wet
Rose Rolex, hoes on deck, she know I got a check
Do it too good when she ride that dick (woo)
Man, I wouldn't trust that bitch, no (haha)

Come on, come on, girl, why you frontin'?
Baby, show me something
When I call her, she gon' leave
And I bet that bottom dollar she gon' cheat
Come on, come on, girl, why you frontin'?
Baby, show me something
You done spent bread on her
And it's all for nothing (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let me see)

(Uh-huh) when a rich nigga want you (want you, baby)
And your nigga can't do nothing for ya (can't do nothin' for you)
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal (oh no)
Whoa, these hoes ain't loyal
Yeah, yeah, let me see

(Uh-huh) when a rich nigga want you (want you, baby)
And your nigga can't do nothing for ya (oh whoa-oh)
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal (they been playin' games, yeah)
Whoa, these hoes ain't loyal (no)
Yeah, yeah, let me see

Yeah, let me see
Yeah, let me see
Let me see
Oh, these hoes ain't loyal (let me see)

Written by:
Bobby Brackins, Charles Carter, Christopher Brown, Jermaine Dupri, Karim Kharbouch, Omari Akinlolu, Roger Parker, Shawn Carter, Steve Arrington, Waung Hankerson

Publisher:
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find