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, bitch
Yeah, that my blood (That my blood)
I got all Fives ’round this bitch
These hoes wan’ fuck, these n***** can’t fuck with none of us in this bitch
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 bitches blowin’ up on my phone
Too much swag, stylist come, I try on clothes inside of my home
Put yo’ bitch in VLONE
Bitch, play what you please long as you don’t put no QC on
Bitch, I make you bleed, ho
Bitch, I know I bleed, ho
Bang red, five, big B, ho (Oh, yeah)
Bitch, 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, bitch, I’m rich as shit
Come get it, got her wit’ it
Know I got her wit’ me, n****, come and get your bitch
Molly, Molly, Holly, Wolly, hottie thottie wit’ a badass body
I don’t play that shit, I keep that chopper
I might buy me a Maserati
Shoot that drum at that bitch, it’s stock
‘Fore I give you my shit, you know I’ma pop it
Bitch, give me yo’ soul, give me yo’ body
Swag up the bitch, pop off her mama
I get high in this bitch, on soul
I’m so high in this bitch, I’m gone (Ha)
I might make her pass a n****, bitch, come touch her toes (Ha)
Still’ll make a R&B bitch come here and hand off her phone
Give a fuck ’bout how good she can sing, bitch, get that phone, yeah
Bitch, get that phone, ho
Huh, bitch, get that phone, yeah-yeah (Bitch, give me your phone)
Huh, bitch, get that phone, ho
Bitch, get that phone, oh yeah-yeah-yeah
My brothers, they kick in that door (Yeah-yeah)
I don’t like that n**** or ho (Yeah-yeah)
I don’t like that lil’ boy or his bitch
I do not like my ho for to hear none of these songs
Like when I breakin’ her back to my songs
Makin’ these bitches stack racks at home
Clingy type of time you on
Buy me clothes that fit me right
I don’t know who fuckin’ side you on
I just know if it’s wrong, it ain’t real right
I ain’t fuckin’ on her every 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?
Geeker than geeked, I’m higher than high, uh-huh
I’m more geeked up than geeked, and I’m higher than high, bitch
I get higher with her when I’m shoppin’ online, bitch, yeah
I can get out my words through this every time (Bitch, yeah)
Yeah, and this bitch here again without you on my side (Bitch, yeah)
Yeah, on my side, bitch, don’t play around mine, and you know you might die (Bitch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (Bitch, yeah)
I got factory tires on bottom of each of my rides (Bitch, yeah)
I got more money, you lil’ boys, y’all some bitches (Bitch, yeah)
I can’t even drive and got more cars, your shit is leased or rented (Bitch, yeah)
Know we make shit hot, pop out Rolls Royce, on back got switches (Bitch, yeah)
I don’t give no fuck ’bout who a star, I don’t want you bitches (Bitch, yeah)