raneraps - who's that brotha? lyrics
who’s that brotha with the style the ladies loving?
she’s a brick house, he’s a bad wolf to touch her
one gold tooth smile like the lord’s supper
with a pocket full of dough
call the town his bread and b-tter
ooow, i’m feeling like a bad motha- shut your mouth
i done came a long way, pockets well endowed
magnums on both hips, i love you on postscript
old girl write me scarlet letters tell me she hopeless
guilty bout her two timing shoe shining new man
buff my sneakers for some coupons and food stamps
i put it all on the plastic, swear i ain’t read a price
he’s nothing but a roadblock, you should read all the signs
candle lit the bedroom, baby bucks need headroom
stub your toe on bedpost, you don’t need all them lights
what a turn off, sound just like your daddy
you’re staring at the stolen cable dreaming about krabby patties
and asking annie if she ok, for you to move in
brown sugar turn to splenda daddy that confuse you
your man a bird, word to lordy
and the moral of the story
take care, nothing was the same as it used to be
who’s that brotha with the style the ladies loving?
she’s a brick house, he’s a bad wolf to touch her
one gold tooth smile like the lord’s supper
with a pocket full of dough
call the town his bread and b-tter
i threw my own self a player’s ball but i ain’t no pimp
had to celebrate getting my bankroll legit
i gave your boyfriend a job, he deliver papers for me
your man crush monday owes his savings to me, listen
big wurm when i come for my money
ask questions while i moisturize my perm for the honeys
catch a player politicking, where’s the pollen prohibition?
too many ladies are tryna be the queen bee i’m missing
i need a superbad, the original, right now
talking pam grier, foxy brown to be my common noun (ay)
baby and me me swim to breakfast, take a jet ski
rolling to the dinner party, pull up in an x-wing
where the guest list curated to get the best seats
presidential plates now i’m feeling like the west wing
eating lobster tail while drinking ginger ale up out the can
ratchet and cl-ssy, streets’ll show and tell you that i’m the man
(show and tell you that i’m the man)
who’s that brotha with the style the ladies loving?
she’s a brick house, he’s a bad wolf to touch her
one gold tooth smile like the lord’s supper
with a pocket full of dough
call the town his bread and b-tter
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