Lyrics Chris Brown – Bitches N Marijuana
Text:
Chorus — Chris Brown:
You can tell by the way I walk that I got ’em
Bail any girl that I wanna
Got bitches n marijuana
Bail any girl that I wanna
Got bitches n marijuana
I got ’em, I got ’em
Ooh, she bad, she don’t do it for free
I got em, I got em
Got bitches n marijuana
Tyga:
T-ballin’, globetrotter
Got a bunch of pre-rolls and a gold lighter
Think you on fire? You gon’ need more fire
I tell her that’s all you get like Street Fighter
Nah, walk with me, talk to me
That body cold, chess game like a pawn to me
She wanna ride with me, kick it and vibe with me
I got that long clip, fall asleep to the movie
Motherfuckin’ goonies, Cartier rubies
Coupe, no top, yeah I took off the Kufi
I’m high, I’m woozie, D’usse, I’m doosing
I might just be right with my bitch in Jacuzzi
Right, nigga, gettin’ right, nigga
I’ma knock that pussy out, fight night, nigga
I’mma light it up, pass it to the right nigga
Our bitches at the crib, don’t invite niggas
Chorus
Chris Brown:
With some clean motherfuckers, no hood rats
Yeah we suited and booted, you know your bitch ’bout to toot it
She want love from a nigga, that’s a heart attack, Yack!
Loud pack, give me all of that
Don’t be sending naked pics cause my phone tapped
Black Mas, duffel bag and a hundred racks
I don’t snitch but I could show you where the money at, me nigga
It’s right here
Got girls and they all on my lap, they with me nigga
Hell yeah
You see the Lambo parked in the trap, that’s me nigga
I own it while you living on a lease nigga
I’m known to keep my bitches on a leash nigga
I smoke it by the pound what you talking ’bout
I dick your bitch down then I walk it out
Chorus
ScHoolboy Q:
Grimy nigga way too groovy for the Grammys
Overseas collecting panties, poppin’ Xanies
Young nigga, hundred grand for the gram, hot damn
Hit the curb with the Benz, swerve
Rollie do no ticky do the blingy
I spending hundreds, all the fifties
Word around the city I’m that nigg-y
But this month I made a milli
Another month, another milli, man that shit be gettin’ silly
Man, bitch you looking silly
Why you broke, go get a check
And when you fly, who need a jet
She wanna move out to the west
She want them diamonds on her neck
And palm trees in the yard, wanna be’s with a star
And get the keys to the car huh
And wanna lick on every scar huh
My money good, shit we buying off the bar right now, right now
Who got the weed right now, right now
Chorus
Album
Lil Rob – The Album
