Lyrics
Hustle hard, get dough
Fuck a bitch, get hoes
Pop Crys, sip mo'
Pop that ass bitch, do your thang hoe
Y’all don’t want drama
That llama hotter than a sauna
Hit the club, fuck up commas
Your chick is my baby mama
Cartier band, Rolex
Just popped four checks
Yo bitch want sex
No teeth, slow neck
She gon', bust it for the Lord
For that new Tom Ford
It’s all love baby, don’t want no drama
Your chick is my baby mama
She was riding in the Honda
Now she eatin' Benihana
All cause Marty Baller
Ain’t trickin if you got it, I’ma spark it
I’m fresh, I’m fly
I’m drunk, I’m high
I smoke, wake up late
My grills, they ain’t fake
Hustle hard, get dough
Fuck a bitch, get hoes
Pop Crys, sip mo'
Pop that ass bitch, do your thang hoe
Y’all don’t want drama
That llama hotter than a sauna
Hit the club, fuck up commas
Your chick is my baby mama
You’re not where you’re supposed to be
Don’t need you comin' close to me
Don’t need you by my table
Only bad bitches in my stable
Prada shoes, Subi jeans
Oh she cute, booty mean
I met her at Ricardo’s, she lookin' like a model
She thought I won the lotto cause I popped a hundred bottles
She only drink Moscato, she always call me Darold
She never call me Fergie, she pop it for them dollars
She shake it for them dollars, she always make me holler
Your chick is my baby mama
Stop cuffin' that chick, man
That’s your BM?
Re-M, my BM
All that fly shit
That Dior, that Gucci, that Chanel, that Louis
Your chick is my baby mama