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letra de no bars (remix) - jt

lyrics from snippet

[verse 1: jt]
pay for this p-ssy, n—a (yeah), get yo’ bands up
oh, you ain’t trickin’, n—a? 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—a 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—a, you know who i am, n—a (huh)
long way from crackin’ cars and pullin’ scams, n—a (yeah)
b-tches on my d-ck, pretty like a transgеnder (ow)
sit this p-ssy on his chin in a chinchilla
fifty flows up
can’t hop out my coupe unless i lift thе doors up (ayy)
told my n—a 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—a, 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)
[verse 2: nicki minaj]
yo’ face card declined?
buggin’ on my time
these n—as and these b-tches better knock on my shine
ain’t a b-tch you can tell, that got more money than mine
that new chanel drop, i’m finna cop like k9’s
[?]
so please hit recline, i said ” the streams gone be mine”
so b-tch hit recline, all these b-tches just be lyin’
[?][?][?][?], ’cause you slow b-tches never match that

[verse 3: nicki minaj]
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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