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lirik lagu i ain’t no bitch, i ain’t no hoe – m-child

if you don’t back off, i’m k!lling myself. (x4)

[m-child]

i think you pushed the wrong b-tton, b-tch
i self destruct, f-ck the world, n-gga talkin’ sh-t
they call me the sh-t starter of the f-cking clique
i represent o.m., orange mound, b-tch
a bunch of hard-core motherf-cking lyricists
provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick
and ride steamer, gettin’ blown for the f-ck of it
i’m lovin’ it, tell a hater straight, “suck my d-ck.”
and giggle in your f-cking face, ’cause you lame, mane
and ride through your f-cking hood and do the same thing
i test nuts when i’m high off that green and gin
and got some gold br-ss knuckles that’ll bruise a chin
they call me the m-child, psycho f-cking kid
i’m splittin’ weaves tryin’ to get a motherf-cking gig
the sh-t i did or will do to a n-gga
really gon’ leave ’em scared
standin’ in a puddle of p-ss runnin’ down his leg

[m-child] [chorus x2]

(if you don’t back off, i’m k!lling myself. [x4])
i ain’t no b-tch, i ain’t no hoe
i ain’t no b-tch, i ain’t no hoe
player hater you gotta go
player hater you gotta go
i’m all about makin scrilla’ and cookin’ that green dough

[m-child]

i’m about stackin’ grip
i go to church ’cause i’m holy
people ask me what the m. stands for, because they nosey
i keep a lot of sh-t to myself, keep n-ggas thinking
what will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?
don’t f-ck around n-gga, don’t f-ck around with me
i snap, crackle, and pop, like f-cking rice crispies
you think it’s a game, a motherf-cking talk show?
n-ggas laughin’ like they ate a f-cking tickle-me-elmo
get that grin up off you face
get up out your paper chase
make a b-tch bounce that -ss
make her buy you birthday cake
it’s a new millenium, 2000, i’m on the rise
better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries
i can make a n-gga hot, make ’em catch a bl–dy nose
when i hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose
bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold
lock down, twist ’em up, and refuse to let ’em go

[chorus x2]

[m-child]

you better hang on my nig’, i’m gone, i’m in a zone
microphone be on, better leave me alone
straight hard-core sh-t, i’m bringin’ it to your home
and to your tape c-ssette, cds, or headphones
eliminations for sure, we be comin’ in a pack
ready to attack, open up your back with a gat
lock down, close shop, fill up every crack
i ain’t givin’ a n-gga sh-t, not even a scooby snack
yo’ hater you comin’ back, why you tryin’ to take mine
i’ma turn into mcgruff and take a bite out of crime
f-ck ’em all, ’bout one phone call, it can be done
take ’em out, ’cause of low self-esteem, you on the run
never f-cking with your kind, ’cause your kind pullin’ stunts
i’ma beat your -ss like you ate my captain crunch
drag ’em through the mud
shoot your -ss like a punk
you only came too deep
we bigger then brady bunch, n-gga

- m child

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