big shy (outro) - $hyfromdatre lyrics
let’s get this straight now—
i never f*cked anybody over in my life, didn’t have a [?], you got that? (ok)
all i have in this world is my boss and my word, and i don’t break them for [?]
ayy, i’m going up, n*gga—no escalator. (ayy)
your girl really don’t talk, this sh*t don’t stop
i’m steady going up like elevators. (no cap)
this sh*t like [?], they want the music now; i don’t want a [?]
b*tches talking sh*t, meanwhile, i’m popping bottles
ayy, b*tch, i be the moneymaker
b*tch, i feel like undertaker
and b*tch, i ain’t no k!ller, but don’t push me—
you can meet your maker. (ayy)
these b*tches is my sons, mane—
and i ain’t even from jamaica
and don’t make me get my gun, mane—
[?] (ayy, ayy)
hold on, i’ll be right back
b*tches mad i won’t type back
you say you gonna do what to who?
chill out, hoe, you ain’t even like that
i done burnt so many b*tches—must be fertile
you down in miami, but what you know about that [?]?
ayy, i be peeping game
if you want something green and slow, get you a f*cking turtle
and i don’t play no games—
i jump on the beat like i’m doing hurdles
ain’t no cappin’ in my rap—
i’m hard as f*ck; they like, “how dare she?”
all that wolfing ‘bout what you gon’ do to a b*tch—
that sh*t don’t scare me
ayy, and b*tch, i’m living like larry
i’m posting up in the cut with twin—
b*tch, we like tom and jerry. (ayy)
i feel bad for the next hoe that try—
i’m [?] b*tch*smack*a*tooth, man, call me the tooth fairy. (ayy)
i want b*tches to talk all that sh*t to my face—
but you know these b*tches too scary. (ayy)
and these b*tches know better. (know better)
you hating while i’m getting more cheddar. (more cheddar)
and if you make a scene, i’ma put on a show—
b*tch, just like it’s coach*lla. (coach*lla)
yeah, i’m a boss, b*tch—
i’m back on boss sh*t
the fans telling me to show my soft side
but i ain’t with that soft sh*t. (ayy, ayy, yeah, ayy, yeah, man)
my voice going away—
b*tch, i’m in the booth rapping my ass off. (d*mn)
b*tches be like, “no filter, b*tch”—
but you forgot to wipe the mask off
i heard b*tches broke through the grapevine
on the hatin’ b*tch, i won’t waste time
man, these b*tches ain’t street for real—
only thing street is your t**th throwing gang signs. (gang, gang, gang, gang)
b*tch, and free my n*ggas out the pen
i rip the mic up on the block—
sh*t, i’ma have to spin a bin
big shot done did it again. (ayy)
you a hatin’ hoe—that’s a sin
i miss my designer—i’m too different
i was put on the bench, lost my motherf*ckin’ top—
b*tch, it only took two minutes
(two f*cking minutes, b*tch—stop playin’ with me, hoe. yeah, b*tch, i’m back.)
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