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letra de no bars (acapella) - jt

[intro]
(i got brizzy on the beat, he go crazy)
(what up noc)
what you workin’ with?
yeah, what you workin’ with?
uh, what you workin’ with?
(show a real b-tch) what you workin’ with

[verse 1]
pay for this p-ssy, n-gga (yeah), get yo’ bands up
oh, you ain’t trickin’, n-gga? i’ma hit yo’ mans up (the f-ck)
cold-ass c-cky b-tch, fur in the summertime (brr)
he gon’ keep the bills paid ’cause he know a b-tch fine
b-tches always in my business, “jt, what you really do?” (what?)
i be at home playin’ fetch by a swimmin’ pool (bing)
i’m a real big dog, b-tch, you a scr-ppy-doo
doin’ all that wifey sh-t knowin’ he don’t f-ck with you
poster girl p-ssy, in yo’ n-gga dreams
i’ma hold a semi, bust whoever in between (bop)
gangster b-tch, jt, medellín
haven’t heard from the opps, yeah, they ain’t said a thing (shh)
i’ll be d-mned, n-gga, you know who i am, n-gga (huh)
long way from crackin’ cars and pullin’ scams, n-gga (yeah)
b-tches on my d-ck, pretty like a transgender (ow)
sit this p-ssy on his chin in a chinchilla
fifty flows up
can’t hop out my coupe unless i lift the doors up (ayy)
told my n-gga twin turbo, v8 the motor (skrrt)
self esteem drop every time i show up, yeah
wrist doin’ eighty in a thirty-five (ice, ayy)
shut marni down for some furry slides (sloppy)
look him in his eyes and tell him dirty lies (huh)
cop me chanel, n-gga, thirty times
the price on this kelly say i’m h-lla paid (yeah)
crocodile birkin from the everglades (yeah)
and i ain’t gotta do a motherf-ckin’ thing
i ain’t gotta do a motherf-ckin’ thing, b-tch (period)
[bridge]
told y’all hoes i don’t work jobs
i am a motherf-ckin’ job
b-tches always in my motherf-ckin’ business
worried ’bout what the f-ck i got goin’ on, ho
hahahaha, it’s city girl sh-t (ho)
even when you think it ain’t city girl sh-t
(i’m a city girl, b-tch)

[verse 2]
second verse to you hatin’-ass hoes (tired-ass)
who get mad every time i strike a pose (d-mn)
i’m rick’d down from my head to my toes (yep)
hood b-tch, dressed like a weirdo (huh)
run away, now i’m steppin’ in some runway
b-tch, you can’t f-ck with my on yo’ birthday (never)
free my real b-tches, corrlink and j-pay (free my b-tches)
you gon’ be home, f-ck what the judge say
i’m low-key, b-tches f-ck with my anxiety
i’m prayed up, and i’m waitin’ on my rivalry
i’m the hype, nah, y’all ain’t gotta hype me
i’m that b-tch, give a f-ck who don’t like me
it’s grind time, no flossin’ (let’s get it)
pulled out the truck and put the porsche in
these b-tches tired, they exhausted (tired-ass hoes)
got b-tches tannin’ for this dark skin
b-tch, i’m really from the trenches
where it’s shots, i ain’t talkin’ ’bout syringes (bop, bop, bow)
yeah, i’m really from them trenches
pretty-ass lips make these b-tches cop syringes, mwah
no bars

- jt

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