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letra de i ain't no bitch ain't no hoe - m-child

if you don’t back off, i’m killing myself. [x4]

[m-child]

i think you pushed the wrong b-tton, b-tch.
i self destruct, f-ck the world, n-gg- 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-gg-,
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 killing 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-gg-s thinking,
what will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?
don’t f-ck around n-gg-, 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-gg-s 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-gg- 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-gg- 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-gg-.

- m child

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