Bitch Yeah

Bitch Yeah Lyrics

(Timmy Da HitMan)
Huh, what?
What? What? What? What? What?
What? What?

What's crackin'? What? (What?)
Or whatever I'm brackin' on, b**ch
Yeah, that my blood (That my blood), I got all Fives 'round this b**ch
These hoes wan' f**k, these niggas can't f**k with none of us in this b**ch
I'ma hit at your clique with the stick (Baow)
Make me turn your lil' boys to a lick (A lick)
I got stripper big booty b**ches blowin' up on my phone
Too much swag, stylist come, I try on clothes inside of my home
Put yo' b**ch in VLone
b**ch, play what you please long as you don't put no QC on
b**ch, I make you bleed, ho
b**ch, I know I bleed, ho
Bang a red flag, big B, ho (Hell, yeah)
b**ch, get on your knees, ho (Yeah, yeah)
Come on, suck it with no teeth, ho (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I'm rich, I'm rich, I'm rich, b**ch, I'm rich as sh*t
Come get it, got to whip it
Know I got to whip it, nigga, come and get your b**ch
Molly, Molly, Holly, Wolly, had a thottie wit' a badass body
I don't play that sh*t, I keep that chopper
I might buy me a Maserati
Shoot that drum at that b**ch, it's a thottie
'Fore I give you my sh*t, you know I'ma pop it
b**ch, give me yo' soul, give me yo' body
Swag up, the b**ch pop out for mama
I get high in this b**ch, on soul
I'm so high in this b**ch, I'm gone
I might make her pack a nigga, b**ch, come touch your toes
Still'll make a R&B b**ch come here and hand off her phone
Give a f**k 'bout how good she can sing, b**ch, get that phone, yeah

b**ch, get that phone, ho
Huh, b**ch, get that phone, yeah-yeah
Huh, b**ch, get that phone, ho
b**ch, get that phone, oh yeah-yeah-yeah

My brothers, they kick in that door (Yeah-yeah)
I don't like that nigga, a ho (Yeah-yeah)
I don't like that lil' boy's b**ch
I do not like my ho for to hear none of these songs
Like when I breakin' her back to my songs
Makin' these b**ches take racks at home
Clingy type of time you on
Buy me clothes that fit me right
I don't know who f**kin' side you on
I just know that this wrong and they real right
I ain't f**kin' on her at night
I ain't put money on yo' head, that's right
Bang red, that blood, my thug, my Five
You know slime could get this party hype
Shootout, soon as I get outside
Rudolph, beam on his nose and eyes
Chew-out, which one gon' eat me right?
Geeky, lil' geek, I'm higher than high, uh-huh
I'm a geek, I been geeked and I'm higher than high, b**ch
I get higher with her when I'm shoppin' online, b**ch, yeah
I can get out my words through this everytime (b**ch, yeah)
Yeah, and this b**ch is a geek without you on my side (b**ch, yeah)
You not my slime, b**ch, don't play with my money you know you might die (b**ch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (b**ch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (b**ch, yeah)

I got more money than you lil' boys, y'all some b**ches (b**ch, yeah)
I can't even drive and got more cars, your sh*t is leased or rented (b**ch, yeah)
Know we make sh*t hype, pop out Rolls Royce, on back got switches (b**ch, yeah)
I don't give no f**k 'bout who a star, I don't want you b**ches (b**ch, yeah)