Vell - Bitch Nigga lyrics
rate meFt. Doughboyz Cashout & E-40
(Hook)
You a bitch nigga, you a snitch nigga
You a down to tell, but won't shoot, nigga
You a bitch nigga, you a snitch nigga
You a down to tell, but won't shoot, nigga, haaa
Man, this nigga gotta go
Man, this nigga gotta go, he gotta go (x2)
(Verse: Vell)
Niggas known to keep the toolie
And stand out, ain't go fo' the FEDie
Real niggas know Vell is the boy, haa
Fake niggas think my life is a movie
Bitch stunt when she roll past us
No flaggin', give it out, no passage
No pussies ova here, bruh
Just some young niggas stuntin' on their punk fit
For the money niggas bust that thing
From the bottom, nigga, we ain't neva had none
Now we Lambd out, niggas keep 'em bands comin'
Fo' the money niggas fuck around and smack sum'
(Hook)
(Verse 2: Roc)
(Ball up!) Snitches end up in ditches
They can't charge you with the crime if they ain't got a witness
Fuck 'em! I can't get this boy no nee' way
Put cheese on his head like he live in Green Bay
All this money, weed and may, ain't that bout a bitch?
He gotta go, that's the only way I bottle this
5-7's in the auto, I ain't bout to miss
This gun'll put a hole inside a hippopotamus
(Verse 3: Kid)
Now get the fuck out my face if you ain't ridin' or clutchin' wit me
I got one question, bullets flyin', you duckin' with me?
We get pulled ova with the iron, you comin' with me?
If you know I ain't fuck with you then why you think you fuckin' with me?
Bitch ass hoe ass soft ass nigga
Lost ass crucifix cross assed nigga
You ain't legit like ____(?), then it's see ya
Don't tow a 40 like E, this ain't a place to be, nigga
(Verse 4: Payroll Giovanni)
I don't fuck around with day one's, niggas that bust they' guns
My pockets all in shape cuz I'm fresh from a yay run
Don't really like attention and don't really like bitch niggas
Money don't mean shit, I know foneys with six figures
Been claimin' the 7Mile, get money my main job
Keep snitches away without prayin' the street god
Talkin' like a boss, you just anotha lame cat
Real niggas ain't style, but we bout to cha(i)n-ge that
(Hook)
(Verse 5: E-40)
He soup n' salad! Me?! I'm supa solid (concrete)
My credibility speak for itself
All of that hate and nutritious bars is bad fo' yo hair
Give 'em a three piece scalpel, break his glass jaw
Stitch him up like a major league baseball
Give 'im fuck bout why he mean, why he round?
Fuck him and whateva horse he rode in on!
Pistol tucked on the avenue tryna make a buck
Watchin' these punkers slummin' and the trenches in the cut
Gettin' his 1's up, tryna stack some chow (some paper)
Raisin' himself, his sister and his bruh
Scrap what you go toe to toe, toe to 4-4
Liquid ______________(?), like to sip full
You can see the dirt in his fingernails
Got a certain smell, neva with a thot that he done tailed
(Hook)
