| Woo-han
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| What
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| Who han, Woo han
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| What up niggas
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| It’s crazy
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| Yo Panchi
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| Call Sha
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| Call Premo
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| Tell them let’s meet in the club
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| Yo
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| I came in the club with a couple of goons
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| We was already drunk, now we’re smoking the
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| Little shorty on the stage, she was wilding, dancing
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| Whole motherfucking crowd screaming, chanting
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| «Move something, shake something
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| Break something, bitch»
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| I was like «Oh shit, what the fuck they’re saying?»
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| But shorty don’t care 'cause she had these niggas paying
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| Had them niggas laying out all their bread
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| Had them niggas standing on their motherfucking head
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| Had them niggas waiting on line for their turn
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| Niggas love stretch marks and cigarette burns
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| «Move something, shake something
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| Break something, bitch»
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| I was like, «Oh shit, what the fuck they’re saying?»
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| Stretch marks and cigarette burns
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| «Move something, shake something
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| Break something, bitch»
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| I was like
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| («Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?»)
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| Stretch marks and cigarette burns
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| Yo this is for my bitches in the shelters who don’t need shelter
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| You’re just doing that shit for a crib
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| And all my bad little bitches, if your baby father hit you
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| Stick that ice cold knife in his ribs
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| And all my bitches pimp the system, tell your workers
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| Fuck that, you gon' have more kids
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| And you ain’t have them 'cause you need them, but now, you got to feed them
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| So you figure that your ass gonna strip
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| In the club setting, niggas dancing, bra sweating
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| As the bass booms, more sweat consumes
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| And you wonder how thousands can fit in a room
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| The speakers is bumping 'til it damn near pop
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| These hoes is dancing 'til they damn near drop
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| But I sit back and observe the whole scenery
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| And nonchalantly tell you what it mean to me
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| The filer says no boots and jeans
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| I’m in the back blowing trees, dipped in army fatigues
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| Little bitch on my back, when will I learn
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| Not to fuck with stretch marks and cigarette burns
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| («Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?»)
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| Got love bitches, sliding down the pole bitches
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| Twelve to four bitches, don’t matter, you’re my bitches
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| Stretch marks and cigarette burns, alright, bitches
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| Can’t knock your grind, live your life, bitches
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| Get money, be the best at what you do
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| Cocksucker want to judge, tell them, motherfuck you
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| You done mastered the art of this seduction shit
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| See homie came tonight but hopes he can fuck your shit
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| nigga screaming we don’t love them hoes
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| Type to question why dance to her pole
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| But he fucking with but she buying him clothes
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| Telling ass nigga, G’s don’t take you on the road
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| In tune with the soul, can’t tell me nothing
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| Have a man lick it up, fronting
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| Who you think you fooling, look at you drooling
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| Love what’s she doing, what is she doing
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| Top on the pole, thick, legs in a split
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| Working her way down like she’s riding your dick
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| Now you want to lick every burn and stretch marks
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| What else can I say, we the best, ma |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Stretch Marks & Cigarette Burns (feat. Panchi, Imani Montana) , by - Blaq Poet. Song from the album The Blaqprint, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп