No Bars

No Bars Song Text

(I got Brizzy on the beat, he go crazy)
(What up Noc)
What you working with? (Yeah)
What you working with? (Uhh)
What you working with? (Uhh)
Show a real b**ch what you working with

Pay for this pussy nigga (Yeah)
Get yo' bands up
Oh, you ain't tricking, nigga, I'ma hit yo' mans up
Cold ass cocky b**ch, fire in the summertime
He gon' keep the bills paid 'cause he know a b**ch fine
b**ches always in my business, JT, what you really do?
What?
I be at home playing fetch by a swimming pool
I'm a real big dog, b**ch, you a Scr*ppy Doo
Doing all that wifey sh*t, knowing he don't f**k with you
Poster girl pussy in yo' nigga dreams
I'ma hold a semi, buss whoever in between (Pow)
Gangster b**ch JT, Medellin
Haven't heard from the opps, yeah, they ain't said a thing (Thing)
I'll be damned, nigga, you know who I am, nigga
Long way from cracking cards and pulling scams, nigga
Yeah
b**ches on my dick, pretty like a transgender
Oww
Sit this pussy on his chin in a chinchilla
Fifty floors up
Can't hop out my coupe unless I lift the doors up (Aye)
Told my nigga twin turbo, V8 the motor (Skrt)
Self-esteems drop every time I show up, yeah

Wrist doing 80 in a 35 (Ice)
Shut Marni down for some furry slides
Look him in his eyes and tell him dirty lies (Hmm)
Cop me Chanel, nigga, thirty times
The price on this Kelly say I'm hella paid (Yeah)
Crocodile Birkin from the Everglades (Yeah)
And, I ain't gotta do a motherf**king thang
I ain't gotta do a motherf**king thang, b**ch

Period
Told y'all hoes I don't work jobs
I am a motherf**king job
b**ches always in my motherf**king business
Worrying 'bout what the f**k I got going on, ho
It's City Girl sh*t (Ho)
Even when you think it ain't Cty Girl sh*t
I'm a City Girl, b**ch

Second verse to you hating ass hoes
Tired ass
Who get mad every time I strike a pose
Damn
I'm Rick down from my head to my toes
Yep
Hood b**ch, dress like a weirdo (Ha)
Run away, now I'm stepping in some runway
b**ch, you can't f**k with me on your birthday (No)
Free my real b**ches, Corrlink and J-Pay
Free my b**ches
You gon' be home, f**k what the judge say
I'm lowkey, b**ches f**k with my anxiety
I'm prayed up and I'm waiting on my rivalry
I'm the hype, naw, y'all ain't gotta hype me
I'm that b**ch, give a f**k who don't like me

It's grind time, no flossing (Let's get it)
Pulled out the truck and put the Porshe in
These b**ches tired, they exhausted (Tired ass hoes)
Got b**ches tannin' for this dark skin
b**ch, I'm really from the trenches
Where it's shots, I ain't talking 'bout syringes
Yeah, I'm really from them trenches
Pretty ass lips make these b**ches cop syringes, mwah
No bars