ft nipsey hussle yg - you broke (ft. nipsey hussle) - yg lyrics
[hook]
you broke – shut up
don’t talk to me, get your bread up
and we used to f-ck but i got fed up
we eatin’
all my, all my feta
you broke – shut up
don’t talk to me, get your bread up
and we used to f-ck but i got fed up
we eatin’
all my, all my feta
[verse 1]
you won’t rap, that f-ckin’ throwback
i’m some crack
you ain’t gotta be a scientist to know that
been to that money, nothin’ before that
b-tch i’ll do you dirty, dirty like a floor mat
yeah i’m tired of hearin’ about what you need
i’m tired of preparin’ for your weeks
i’m tired of you f-ckin’ me, tryin’ to get pregnant
knowin’ if you had a baby you’ll say you f-ckin’ couldn’t help it
i be ridin’ through the city b-mpin’ 2 chainz
i ain’t worried ’bout the police, i got two names
keep the sharp ’cause sometimes you gotta do things
she give away that p-ssy like loose change
tryna have a n-gg- baby, the ceiling never
this ain’t recess, b-tch you know i don’t play-play
just bought a just took a vacay
n-gg- you too broke, you need to call triple a, eh?
[hook]
[verse 2]
how you f-ck for cash but you not a hoe?
and how i’m gon’ respect you if your pockets broke?
on your rap sheet a whole lot of bros
it’s a clinic on western but you out of dough
you’re broke, your p-ssy stink, you borrow clothes
lost the little guap that you had playin’ with your nose
i dedicate this to my last b-tch
swear i got cash and started actin’ like a
catch up, keep up, cutl-ss with the beat up
i be buyin’ pounds, so naw we can’t peace up
rollie with the crown, bet you wanna f-ck the king, huh?
it’s money over b-tches, never f-ck this thing up
she still fainted when she seen us
i’m a grade a n-gg-, youse a c+
i got a room a got a broom, b-tch, clean up
hit the blade, and play my fee up
[hook]
[verse 3]
you shoppin’ at louis when your baby need wick
you some broke n-gg-s, wouldn’t know you need sh-t
you sick – you triflin’
i heard in the ‘hood your b-tch cyclin’
n-body wifin’ yours
young n-gg- got money, no yeah
fast money, fast b-tches takin’ hot baths
and me and relations don’t last
i’m hustlin’, hustlin’, got the bands on my scotty sandow
i’m hangin’ out the window, bangin’ out the widow
throw it up chunky – wrists all chunky
i heard your p-ssy smell funky
and i ain’t used to what you’re used to
the only thing in your ear is a bluetooth
you n-gg-s ain’t blinged-out, 20 racks i blow that
5-10-15 i let my n-gg- hold that
[hook]
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