b#tch Yeah Lyrics – NBA YoungBoy
Singer: NBA YoungBoy
Title: b#tch Yeah
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(Timmy Da HitMan)
Huh, what?
What? What? What? What? What?
What? What?
What’s crackin’? What? (What?)
Or whatever I’m brackin’ on, b#tch
Yeah, that my blood (That my blood), I got all Fives ’round this b#tch
These hoes wan’ f#ck, these n#gg#s can’t f#ck with none of us in this b#tch
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#tches blowin’ up on my phone
Too much swag, stylist come, I try on clothes inside of my home
Put yo’ b#tch in VLone
b#tch, play what you please long as you don’t put no QC on
b#tch, I make you bleed, ho
b#tch, I know I bleed, ho
Bang a red flag, big B, ho (Hell, yeah)
b#tch, 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#tch, I’m rich as sh#t
Come get it, got to whip it
Know I got to whip it, n#gg#, come and get your b#tch
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#tch, it’s a thottie
‘Fore I give you my sh#t, you know I’ma pop it
b#tch, give me yo’ soul, give me yo’ body
Swag up, the b#tch pop out for mama
I get high in this b#tch, on soul
I’m so high in this b#tch, I’m gone
I might make her pack a n#gg#, b#tch, come touch your toes
Still’ll make a R&B b#tch come here and hand off her phone
Give a f#ck ’bout how good she can sing, b#tch, get that phone, yeah
b#tch, get that phone, ho
Huh, b#tch, get that phone, yeah-yeah
Huh, b#tch, get that phone, ho
b#tch, get that phone, oh yeah-yeah-yeah
My brothers, they kick in that door (Yeah-yeah)
I don’t like that n#gg#, a ho (Yeah-yeah)
I don’t like that lil’ boy’s b#tch
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#tches take racks at home
Clingy type of time you on
Buy me clothes that fit me right
I don’t know who f#ckin’ side you on
I just know that this wrong and they real right
I ain’t f#ckin’ 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#tch
I get higher with her when I’m shoppin’ online, b#tch, yeah
I can get out my words through this everytime (b#tch, yeah)
Yeah, and this b#tch is a geek without you on my side (b#tch, yeah)
You not my slime, b#tch, don’t play with my money you know you might die (b#tch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (b#tch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (b#tch, yeah)
I got more money than you lil’ boys, y’all some b#tches (b#tch, yeah)
I can’t even drive and got more cars, your sh#t is leased or rented (b#tch, yeah)
Know we make sh#t hype, pop out Rolls Royce, on back got switches (b#tch, yeah)
I don’t give no f#ck ’bout who a star, I don’t want you b#tches (b#tch, yeah)
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Lyrics NBA YoungBoy – b#tch Yeah
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