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(Out the city)
Yeah, GC be the clique and we winnin' (GC)
Me and JT the realest bitches standing
'Cause lord knows that I miss her (I miss her)
But I'ma hold this shit down for my sister (hold it down)
These hoes just hate to give me credit (never)
It's all good, baby, I'll take the debit (haha)
My hand rubber, we could bet it (we could bet it)
We ain't soft, but I got the most edges (yup)
The diamonds, the rings, and the watches, the bracelets
And half another night, so I understand the hatin'
Cosmopolitan while I'm out at vegas
50K tab and Chanel on the latest
Deep wag, tailored in the 6, sittin' fluffy
Check my DM, another rapper wanna f*ck me
Ap on my arm, I done think I got a two
With my family out west like boss bitches do
All my life I've been going against the odds
Tryna come up on me, better keep your job
A round of applause for the boss ass bitches
Who made it on their own, and they shittin' on niggas
Girl, let that nigga know
If he ain't breakin' bread, then he gotta go
Ride Benz when you met him
These f*ck niggas want you to sweat 'em
They'll run you to the ground if you let 'em
Y'all niggas better get y'all checks up
And y'all hoes better get y'all bets up
Y'all can bet y'all asses outta here
We gon' f*ck the game up when I come home
This call is from a federal prison
Period (haha, talk that shit JT)
When I was doin' time, y'all hoes was doin' fine
But when I come home, it's over for y'all hoes
Get they ass ran
The city girls, we the hottest in the county
Google me, bitch, yeah, I'm a real brownie
I came up under hustlers
To the streets, shit, a bitch been accustomed
But lemme chill 'cause I'm gettin' in my feelings
Comin' to sidetrack me from the millions
I got a message for you and them
Bitches, start worryin' 'bout your motherf*ckin' children
F*ck that rap shit, I'll fight a bitch, period
Matter of fact, I don't sit around, bitch, period
I can count on my hands who really see the vision
Old city girls verse, pee ain't clearin' it
Wait 'til my sister come home
We gon' really get these motherf*ckers gone (get 'em gone)
We gon' really put these bitches in the zone
And show 'em that the city girls really puttin' on, period
I wanna send a shoutout to all my city girls and city boys
Be holdin' me the f*ck down, pulled me out of quarreling
Get they asses, miami, don't let up on 'em hoes
F*ck them hoes, them hoes ain't got no money
Them hoes need to worry about they motherf*ckin' kids
And worry about they baby daddies
F*ck, when I come home
Period, game over
City Girls - Intro ( Lyrics
City Girls - Intro ( Lyrics
Official
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If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
You have pre-paid call
You will not be charged for this call
This call is from Jatavia ****, an inmate at a federal prison
This call is being recorded and is subject to monitoring
Hang up to decline the call, or to accept, dial 5 now
If you wish to block any future calls of this nature, dial 7 now
To decline this call, hang up
(Out the city)
Yeah, GC be the clique and we winnin' (GC)
Me and JT the realest bitches standing
'Cause lord knows that I miss her (I miss her)
But I'ma hold this shit down for my sister (hold it down)
These hoes just hate to give me credit (never)
It's all good, baby, I'll take the debit (haha)
My hand rubber, we could bet it (we could bet it)
We ain't soft, but I got the most edges (yup)
The diamonds, the rings, and the watches, the bracelets
And half another night, so I understand the hatin'
Cosmopolitan while I'm out at vegas
50K tab and Chanel on the latest
Deep wag, tailored in the 6, sittin' fluffy
Check my DM, another rapper wanna f*ck me
Ap on my arm, I done think I got a two
With my family out west like boss bitches do
All my life I've been going against the odds
Tryna come up on me, better keep your job
A round of applause for the boss ass bitches
Who made it on their own, and they shittin' on niggas
Girl, let that nigga know
If he ain't breakin' bread, then he gotta go
Ride Benz when you met him
These f*ck niggas want you to sweat 'em
They'll run you to the ground if you let 'em
Y'all niggas better get y'all checks up
And y'all hoes better get y'all bets up
Y'all can bet y'all asses outta here
We gon' f*ck the game up when I come home
This call is from a federal prison
Period (haha, talk that shit JT)
When I was doin' time, y'all hoes was doin' fine
But when I come home, it's over for y'all hoes
Get they ass ran
The city girls, we the hottest in the county
Google me, bitch, yeah, I'm a real brownie
I came up under hustlers
To the streets, shit, a bitch been accustomed
But lemme chill 'cause I'm gettin' in my feelings
Comin' to sidetrack me from the millions
I got a message for you and them
Bitches, start worryin' 'bout your motherf*ckin' children
F*ck that rap shit, I'll fight a bitch, period
Matter of fact, I don't sit around, bitch, period
I can count on my hands who really see the vision
Old city girls verse, pee ain't clearin' it
Wait 'til my sister come home
We gon' really get these motherf*ckers gone (get 'em gone)
We gon' really put these bitches in the zone
And show 'em that the city girls really puttin' on, period
I wanna send a shoutout to all my city girls and city boys
Be holdin' me the f*ck down, pulled me out of quarreling
Get they asses, miami, don't let up on 'em hoes
F*ck them hoes, them hoes ain't got no money
Them hoes need to worry about they motherf*ckin' kids
And worry about they baby daddies
F*ck, when I come home
Period, game over
You will not be charged for this call
This call is from Jatavia ****, an inmate at a federal prison
This call is being recorded and is subject to monitoring
Hang up to decline the call, or to accept, dial 5 now
If you wish to block any future calls of this nature, dial 7 now
To decline this call, hang up
(Out the city)
Yeah, GC be the clique and we winnin' (GC)
Me and JT the realest bitches standing
'Cause lord knows that I miss her (I miss her)
But I'ma hold this shit down for my sister (hold it down)
These hoes just hate to give me credit (never)
It's all good, baby, I'll take the debit (haha)
My hand rubber, we could bet it (we could bet it)
We ain't soft, but I got the most edges (yup)
The diamonds, the rings, and the watches, the bracelets
And half another night, so I understand the hatin'
Cosmopolitan while I'm out at vegas
50K tab and Chanel on the latest
Deep wag, tailored in the 6, sittin' fluffy
Check my DM, another rapper wanna f*ck me
Ap on my arm, I done think I got a two
With my family out west like boss bitches do
All my life I've been going against the odds
Tryna come up on me, better keep your job
A round of applause for the boss ass bitches
Who made it on their own, and they shittin' on niggas
Girl, let that nigga know
If he ain't breakin' bread, then he gotta go
Ride Benz when you met him
These f*ck niggas want you to sweat 'em
They'll run you to the ground if you let 'em
Y'all niggas better get y'all checks up
And y'all hoes better get y'all bets up
Y'all can bet y'all asses outta here
We gon' f*ck the game up when I come home
This call is from a federal prison
Period (haha, talk that shit JT)
When I was doin' time, y'all hoes was doin' fine
But when I come home, it's over for y'all hoes
Get they ass ran
The city girls, we the hottest in the county
Google me, bitch, yeah, I'm a real brownie
I came up under hustlers
To the streets, shit, a bitch been accustomed
But lemme chill 'cause I'm gettin' in my feelings
Comin' to sidetrack me from the millions
I got a message for you and them
Bitches, start worryin' 'bout your motherf*ckin' children
F*ck that rap shit, I'll fight a bitch, period
Matter of fact, I don't sit around, bitch, period
I can count on my hands who really see the vision
Old city girls verse, pee ain't clearin' it
Wait 'til my sister come home
We gon' really get these motherf*ckers gone (get 'em gone)
We gon' really put these bitches in the zone
And show 'em that the city girls really puttin' on, period
I wanna send a shoutout to all my city girls and city boys
Be holdin' me the f*ck down, pulled me out of quarreling
Get they asses, miami, don't let up on 'em hoes
F*ck them hoes, them hoes ain't got no money
Them hoes need to worry about they motherf*ckin' kids
And worry about they baby daddies
F*ck, when I come home
Period, game over
Writer: Caresha Brownlee, Jatavia Johnson
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group