M-Child - I Ain't No Bitch, Ain't No Hoe download song

Lyrics

I think you pushed the wrong button, bitch
I self destruct, fuck the world, nigga talkin' shit
They call me the shit starter of the fucking clique
I represent O.M., Orange Mound, bitch
A bunch of hard-core motherfucking lyricists
Provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick
And ride steamer, gettin' blown for the fuck of it
I’m lovin' it, tell a hater straight, «Suck my dick.»
And giggle in your fucking face, 'cause you lame, mane
And ride through your fucking hood and do the same thing
I test nuts when I’m high off that green and gin
And got some gold brass knuckles that’ll bruise a chin
They call me the M-Child, psycho fucking kid
I’m splittin' weaves tryin' to get a motherfucking gig
The shit I did or will do to a nigga
Really gon' leave 'em scared
Standin' in a puddle of piss runnin' down his leg
(If you don’t back off, I’m killing myself.)
I ain’t no bitch, I ain’t no hoe
I ain’t no bitch, I ain’t no hoe
Player hater you gotta go
Player hater you gotta go
I’m all about makin scrilla' and cookin' that green dough
I’m about stackin' grip
I go to church 'cause I’m holy
People ask me what the M. stands for, because they nosey
I keep a lot of shit to myself, keep niggas thinking
What will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?
Don’t fuck around nigga, don’t fuck around with me
I snap, crackle, and pop, like fucking Rice Crispies
You think it’s a game, a motherfucking talk show?
Niggas laughin' like they ate a fucking Tickle-Me-Elmo
Get that grin up off you face
Get up out your paper chase
Make a bitch bounce that ass
Make her buy you birthday cake
It’s a new millenium, 2000, I’m on the rise
Better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries
I can make a nigga hot, make 'em catch a bloody nose
When I hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose
Bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold
Lock down, twist 'em up, and refuse to let 'em go
You better hang on my nig', I’m gone, I’m in a zone
Microphone be on, better leave me alone
Straight hard-core shit, I’m bringin' it to your home
And to your tape cassette, CDs, or headphones
Eliminations for sure, we be comin' in a pack
Ready to attack, open up your back with a Gat
Lock down, close shop, fill up every crack
I ain’t givin' a nigga shit, not even a Scooby Snack
Yo' hater you comin' back, why you tryin' to take mine
I’ma turn into McGruff and take a bite out of crime
Fuck 'em all, 'bout one phone call, it can be done
Take 'em out, 'cause of low self-esteem, you on the run
Never fucking with your kind, 'cause your kind pullin' stunts
I’ma beat your ass like you ate my Captain Crunch
Drag 'em through the mud
Shoot your ass like a punk
You only came too deep
We bigger then Brady Bunch, nigga