Am           C
Uh, yeah
Am           G
Some regular degular, bloody bars

[Verse]
Am                          C
I swear to God, they ain't wanna see me leave the club
Am                          G
Got up on my shit and now they scared to show me love
Am                          C
They'd rather see me on the pole twerkin' it for dubs
Am                          G
I guess I really gotta show them what the fuck is up
Am                          C
I'm on some other shit, that Cardi B gutta shit
Am                          G
Every time I catch a hating bitch, she on her stutter shit
Am                          C
Can't finish her words but on Instagram thuggin' shit
Am                          G
You set yourself up, don't make it seem like I be buggin', bitch
Am                          C
And niggas hatin' on me, really be upset
Am                          G
I don't know, make me wonder what you got between your legs
Am                          C
You a real nigga mad at a bitch for getting bread?
Am                          G
You's a bitch from birth, you just grew a third leg, woo!
Am                          C
Bite down, bite down, it was crunch time
Am                          G
Yeah I skip all of them bitches in the lunch line
Am                          C
I put in work, now I'm here at the front line
Am                          G
Ready for the bullshit, I swear it's on my bloodline
Am                          C
Touch mine, getting slumped, slimed one time
Am                          G
Pump blind, bitches quick, then I dump mine
Am                          C
Pull up with the Gucci clutch, spitting clutch rhymes
Am                          G
Flyer than a big big B with a Blood tie
Am                          C
Don't do much, she get hard when I bust wines
Am                          G
No straws for this juice box, got one time
Am                          C
Last nigga I was with went insane
Am                          G
'Cause my head game movin' hills like I'm lookin' for the sunshine
Am                          C
I'm a Bronx bitch birthed from the hip-hop
Am                          G
From the block to the tick tock in the Patek watch
Am                          C
Quick drop with the cash, couldn't fit the Ziploc
Am                          G
Grips locked, get your shit popped in my flip flops
Am                          C
Walking out, but every dollar, I still want it all
Am                          G
Now he wanna nail me, I could give your man a cure
Am                          C
You gotta mail me, but I don't check my spam at all
Am                          G
Never feel what you're sayin' like I'm usin' Anbesol
Am                          C
Travel all around the states getting nice checks
Am                          G
I was tourin' off a tape, I had a hype set
Am                          C
Is that the reason all these niggas wanna pipe next?
Am                          G
I'm a creep, bitch, see his dick through his Nike Tech
Am                          C
Got 'em all scared, I ain't even strike yet
Am                          G
Wire up jaws when I swing if the mic stretch
Am                          C
I recall, took the right steps, had a shot
Am                          G
So I took the shit, now this game gon' need a life vest

[Outro]
Uh
I said, woo!
Huh