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lud foe – bitch lyrics

[intro]
p-ssy n-gga fix your face, what you lookin’ at b-tch?
what you lookin’ at b-tch? gang gang
lud foe, boochie gang b-tch, lf 300 sh-t
you know how i’m rockin’ n-gga
ysn, young street n-gga
get your gun up, get your funds up
you on that opp sh-t, get mopstick

[pre-chorus]
ayy, p-ssy n-gga fix your face, what you lookin’ at b-tch?
chopper wet the shirt up like the laundromat b-tch
shoot a n-gga in his mouth if he runnin’ that b-tch
you got them pounds in your house, we gon’ run in that b-tch
d-ck hoes in the ghost, i was stompin’ that b-tch
you put a ring on that ho, we be runnin’ that b-tch
and i ain’t gotta c-ck it back, already one in that b-tch
hit the strip club, i just snuck one gun in that b-tch

[chorus]
i say b-tch, b-tch, ayy, b-tch, b-tch
nina ross, she my b-tch, b-tch, ayy
you with the sh-ts, b-tch
’bout my bread i’ll toast you
she suck suck me into a comma
ayy, she got a head on her shoulders
she did exactly what i told her, ayy
’cause she my b-tch

[verse]
n-ggas hidin’ from me like he got a warrant
stripper b-tch so thick you see that -ss from the front
you smokin’ reggie, don’t even try and p-ss me no blunt
i heard you diss me, now i’m outside slidin’ on the hunt
she ate my d-ck for breakfast so i took her out for brunch
got the city on my back but never mind my hunch
i’ve been doin’ this sh-t so long, look all the time i punch
i just dropped an x pill in my hawaiian punch
i ball like chris paul, and john wall
your b-tch ugly, ruth paul, aw naw
aw naw, h-ll naw, h-ll naw
she’s a dusty, dust her off, then get lost
my weed musty, i’m ride luxury with new exhaust
you gotta have expensive taste ’cause my d-ck cost
finesse the plug, you shouldn’t’ve trust me, i’m gettin’ lost
you better be lucky, aim at his top, i tried to tear it off
he got hit with the seven-six-two
the doctor said he might not pull through
now his family in the lobby and they crying
you think i give a f-ck, b-tch boo-hoo
’cause by the time they got to him he was through
this chopper turn his n-ggas into house shoes
he put his nose in my motherf-ckin’ business
so i cut off his nostrils
ayy this chopper knock a n-gga out his mind
if you don’t see me gettin’ to this money then you’re blind
i won’t hesitate to take a n-gga’s life, he threaten mine
baby bend that sh-t over, let me hit it from behind, ayy
p-ss out, dope fiends in the long -ss line
i can’t keep my fingers off her ’cause she look so fine
got my b-tch t-tties did and it cost me a dime
you ain’t f-ckin’ with me n-gga, you should just stop trying
if you a snitch -ss n-gga, i don’t f-ck with your kind
but we heard you a b-tch, turn a n-gga lights out
all i did was hit the switch, suck my d-ck ’cause i’m rich
she put that brain on me good, she do all kind of tricks
pet-te ’round my d-ck, doin’ all kind of splits
i was really in the field doin’ all kind of sh-t
i been ballin’ for a long time, he’s an -n-lyst
chopper hit his body, leavin’ all kind of damages
whole lot of red tape, all you hear is ambulance
you too sloppy on them hits, you be leaving evidence
you keep talkin’ all that sh-t, we show up to your residence
middle finger donald trump, yeah, f-ck my president
riding around with a long clip, check the measurement
b-tch my mind gone, still tryna find that sh-t
wanna rob me, don’t you even think ’bout tryin’ that sh-t
young street n-gga, b-tch i stand behind that sh-t
baby bend it over, let me get behind that sh-t
hit your block, shoot it up, then rewind that sh-t
n-ggas hatin’ on me, but i never mind that sh-t
i showed you n-ggas how to stunt, this the thanks i get?
i can count on both my hands how many l!cks i hit
she can count on both her hands how many d-cks she l!cked
i got my four-five on me and this b-tch got kick
talkin’ all that k!llin’ sh-t, you n-ggas make me sick
k!lled your homie in your face and you ain’t do sh-t
you ain’t slidin’, you ain’t ridin’, you ain’t gon’ shoot sh-t
i’m ridin’ sixes with a redbone, bow-leg b-tch
we take a n-gga head off like you owe that sh-t
i hit the club with thirty thousand, i’ma throw that sh-t
you f-ck with me, i get you murdered and you know that sh-t
i rob you for your watch and chain, n-gga load that sh-t
my weed come straight from california, n-gga blow that sh-t

[chorus]
ayy, b-tch, b-tch, ayy, b-tch, b-tch
nina ross, she my b-tch, b-tch, ayy
you with the sh-ts, b-tch
’bout my bread i’ll toast you
she suck suck me into a comma
ayy, she got a head on her shoulders
she did exactly what i told her, ayy
’cause she my b-tch

- lud foe lyrics

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