trae tha truth - bitches ain't shit lyrics
(-talking-)
yeah, you must be a motherf-cking fool
to think, we ain’t staying on this underground sh-t
trae the truth n-gga, -ssh0l- by nature
slow loud and motherf-cking bangin n-gga
we bout to bring it, to your motherf-cking -ss
(it’s like this and like that, and like this and uh
it’s like this and like that, and like this and uh)
that’s what it is, that’s what i represent
i’m in your motherf-cking hood, like the president
[trae]
mauri gators on my toes, so my kick game sick
you in anything less, you better put em up quick
see me balling through the hood, like i hit another l!ck
i had to tell em i’m the truth, all the rest riding d-ck
n-ggas better get they grown man on, f-cking with me
if they see a n-gga strut, it ain’t nothing less than a g
see i roam around the block, like i’m looking for a ho
yeah i’m posted in the drop, on a nice amount of chrome
boys got me wrong, i’m still king on the throne
sponsored by the hood, so it’s sw-ngas when i roam
sitting in my zone, with five on my waist
if they looking drop the top, so these haters see my face
i’m back with a bad att-tude, n-ggas be acting g-y
i’m bout to put em on they p-ssy, for f-cking with mr. trae
i should of signed with dr. dre, cause i’m a a.w.a
a -ssh0l- with a att-tude, b-tch what you say
jump up, boys’ll get thrashed
pop my trunk, when certified trash
on a n-gga -ss, i lean so fast
f-cking with the streets, you get broke like gl-ss
sh-t don’t stop, i mob off top
plus my lil’ brother, just hit the cell block
my mind half gone, i dont hit another zone
i advise motherf-ckers, leave me alone
flipping my slab, gripping my grain
missing big h.a.w.k., so my trunk banging “sw-ng”
i do it for the hood, ain’t sh-t gon change
plus my wrist game, threw haters out of range
i use to be broke, now they say i look strange
prolly cause my do’s flying up, like planes
n-gga, lil’ trae don’t play no games
i’m a p-i-m-p, full speed through your dame
i’m loved by blue, and my n-ggas in the flame
these n-ggas better chill, i’m the truth in the game
leather cocaine, so you know it’s white mayn
if you want me on a song, get the price right mayn
keep yelling my name, i’ll put it on your brain
i’m the leader of the gang, read the a.b.n. chain
(-talking-)
yeah, boys got me f-cked up mayn i got this
matter fact, i ain’t letting it go nowhere
this trae the motherf-cking truth n-gga, lil’ boss
[boss]
slumping the corner in my coupe c-cked, going up the block
got it soft to rock, plus my sh-t hot
one hop straight to the street top, plus my beat knock
h.p.d.’s on a g’s c-ck, n-gga please stop
got a ticket for throwing away a ticket, when they stopped me
punching it is gold, on my old school galoppi
who gon block me, watch for the paparazzi who gon pop me
i’m posted with my switchbox, now who the f-ck gon hop me
i try to keep it bread up, and handle n-ggas head up
they asked who put the slash in the block, them n-ggas said us
i’m hopping out the black lac again, same black mack again
in the same, black backpack again
i’mma show ya, i’m a hoover with a ruger
the hollow points i’m packing, might slide right through ya
maneuver the scene, i’m in a all black cougar
straight face up in court, like a n-gga never knew ya
point blank to your face, before you scream halleluya
got the fever of the flavor, so a n-gga gotta do ya
coming through your window, looking like mcgyver to ya
made plans for the mob, but it seems you dying sooner
so i stay’s in your head, kinda like a mind tumor
‘fore a n-gga rip off, like a out of line rumor
b-tch say she f-cked boss, but i never ran through ya
b-tch mad, cause her coochie hole smell like old tuna
i know this beat old, might sound old to ya
but it’s picked out by trae, grey, boss and the junior
certified gangsta, slash certified shooter
plus the paint on the whip, like the water in laguna
i took another trip, to go and buy another puma
threw her in a chevrolet, and sent that b-tch to the groomer
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