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letra de fuck'em - shyne

artist: shyne
alb-m: boys will be boys b/w f-ck ’em 12″
song: f-ck ’em
typed by: bigpun

verse 1:
leave n—-a layin’ stiffer than my d-ck when it’s up in a tight cl-t
return the devils hate by f-ckin’ a white b-tch
b-tches ain’t sh-t but some hips,
t-ts, cl-ts, and some fat lips to wrap around my d-ck
check it, ghetto girl in designer type
she could get it ‘long as the v-g-n- tight
keep they nose numb, high off of china white
kinda like the quartz, i knock ’em down, runnin’ through my system,
p-ssy ain’t right hit ’em with a aww naaaw
if the head right get remanded behind bars bizarre
grand jury endightment, lifetime sentence, stash my c-ke in they bra
the hustl-ar, ya’ll custom-ar’s
posted up on broadway in a custom r
25 mil’ in the trunk
nicky barnes style on my way to the trunk
b-tch lets b-mp.

chorus (shyne and female)
no, (f-ck these b-tches, f-ck these b-tches, f-ck ’em)
i don’t love these b-tches, f-ck these hoes
no, (f-ck these n—-s, f-ck these n—-s, f-ck ’em)
i don’t love these n—-s, f-ck these n—-s
(’till the day that i die never get none of mine)
no, (f-ck these b-tches, f-ck these b-tches,
f-ck these b-tches, f-ck ’em)
i don’t love these n—-s, f-ck these scrubs
no, f-ck these n—-s (four karat thug n—-s want some love)

verse 2:
i’m that n—-a priest from supafly after he died
reincarnated, keep a b-tch wide
on the bed tied
like “uh! uh! uh!”, stop i’m tired
besides my moms a b-tch’ lips never touch my face,
maybe my girl, but i be watchin’ her funny
like “who d-ck you suckin’ while i’m on tour gettin’ money
tryin’ to wash this crack money?”
i give a b-tch nothin’ but sperm
when you n—-s gon’ learn?
discern queens from sl-ts, love from l-st
the ones who ate p-ssy and take it in the b-tt
20 stacks in my pockets, i’m cheap
f-ckin’ treatin’ a freak to eat
i got ky jelly and grease
and a stick of bubble gum b-tch, you want a piece?
c’mon….

chorus

verse 3:
never met a b-tch i liked enough to love
and i share with my mothaf-ckin’ n—a buzz
let the homies get up on it,
treat a b-tch like a blunt, hit, hit, p-ss
head on my d-ck ’till she get whiplash
f-ck it i’m cold, some b-tches is colder
runnin’ game just to get up in the rover
platinum r, platinum jehovah
not here b-tch, f-ck what they told ya’
keys to the condo, gucci ensamble
gaul streams in santa fe` doin’ the mambo
laid back where the shade’s at
white sand, tan, how many b-tches can say that?
you want that? we can do that…yeah right
not in your life
stay focused, get my money, every penny
f-ck if your legs broke b-tch, crawl on ya’ belly

chorus ’till fade…

- shyne

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