Lyrics Young M.A – Who Run It Freestyle

Uh

Big pimpin’, spendin’ Gs
Twenty racks in the back of jeans
Tatted sleeves, Patek freeze
Pretty nigga, that indeed
Thottie with me, black and cream
African, Japanese
I just call her blackanese
I’m just gonna tap that and leave
I don’t leave the house unless I got a bag waitin’ for me at the front door
If you short on my cash, thirty niggas hoppin’ out a Uber truck
So don’t try your luck, hoes down to fuck
Top floor of the hotel
Smokin’ weed in the bathroom, put the shower on so it’s no smell
Street cold, don’t tell
But I’d rather live where it’s no hell
It’s funny how hatin’ niggas be the ones who names ring no bells
Oh well, my bitch bad
And her pussy got a soap smell
She a model, nah she a model
She a little bougie
And I’m just tryna put this big wet tongue on top of that coochie
Earlier she a little mad at me, she a little moody
Sometimes I don’t understand the bitch, she a little confusing
Like half the time I don’t be even doin’ shit, and she be assuming
Like I ain’t loyal or somethin’

You act like I don’t call you or somethin’
You act like you a little spoiled or somethin’
Is you hot like you boiling somethin’?
So all you rappers it’s a rap for you like aluminum foil or somethin’
Better crown her, came from the ground up, from the soil or somethin’
Been ’bout it, every nigga with me poppin’ like oil or somethin’
I was slackin’, had to get on track like I’m recordin’ or somethin’
I hear a lot of talk, but honestly they ain’t really talkin’ ’bout nothin’
And nowadays I don’t trust a thing, so I ain’t really sure about nothin’
I just fucked your bitch in Givenchy flip flops
And yeah we spendin’ money, but we also spin blocks
Bend blocks, shout out my nigga Jezz, big opps
They ain’t open up them doors, I had to pick locks
Free Bobby, free Rowdy, free the whole 9
Got lit on my own nigga, didn’t need a cosign
It’s Red Lyfe, no red lights, green lights go time
But before you get on the road, nigga make sure you know your road signs
He asked did I fuck his bitch, I said «uh yeah nigga, four times»
My sex drive longer than my show lines, make her cum in no time
RL that’s the bro sign, can’t come in, we got closed sign
Can’t hang here, this is not a clothesline
Fuck around and get clotheslined
No ghostwriter, I wrote mine
Wrote the whole rap and the whole rhyme
They like «MA, where the album at?»
I just need a lil’ more time
I got guns, but if I ain’t usin’ it, no need to show mine
Don’t mean I won’t blow, ma
Bitch nigga, you could blow, ma
In the club I drink out the bottle, ain’t no need to even pour mine
Stripper bitches don’t like me ’cause I get money and don’t throw mine
Y’all niggas can’t fuck with me, ain’t gotta say it, you already know why
If I had a dick, you could suck it
If I had nuts, you could hold mine

I said, if I had some nuts, you could hold mine
If I had some nuts, you could hold mine
Fuck y’all niggas…