Lyrics May 8th - Cash Kidd

May 8th

Just the pants and a shirt, damn near cost a nickel
Been broke all your life, you ain’t gon' ever solve the riddle
She throw the neck for everybody, she the artificial
These niggas never drop shit like they argumentive
Pull up to the scene, they like «there go Marc' bitch.»
If getting money is a must, then I can’t smell your armpit
Same bitch you hatin' on me to gon' fuck me off rip
Used to wear my dawg shit, now I’m up dog shit
Can’t leave the game, bitch, I’m knee-deep
Never needed hoes, bitches need me
Just took a trip to Arizona, not the sweet tea
Stop tryna do fraud, but it’s hard when everything free
Just fucked the shit out your thot, to a deep sleep
Nigga don’t get beat by the chop, like Chief Keef
Swan, that’s my brother, you see him then you gon' see me
SWV, I’m the reason your bitch knees weak
You might catch me daydreaming, cause I stay scheming
Nigga you a fake demon, your bitch late creepin'
When you call, she fake sleepin' while she taste semen
Countin' money I keep prayin', have to thank Jesus
When we slide on a nigga, bitch that drac'
Load the 40 on me, loadin' up some bank pieces
Nigga check the scoreboard, cause we ain’t even, at all
Why you ain’t believe in your dawg?
I had vision seein' us ball
Baby, why ain’t you believe in your nigga?
What you ain’t see in your nigga?
That you thought you see in those niggas?
Weighin' up some money I thought I’d never have
Chip on my shoulder, reason why I’m in my bag
Now I’m on posters, I got friends I never had
My bitch get spoiled cause she really never ask
A hunnid choppers strike me wrong and that’s your ass
If it’s a problem pull up suited like the mask
Hopped out my feelings then I hopped right in my bag
Got out my feelings like my teeth was hurtin' bad
Ay
Twenty thousand, fifty bands, bitch, a hunnid ball!
Last man standing, we want every one of y’all
Give a fuck about a slut at all
I know bitches ain’t down for me, so I’mma punt the ball
When I needed love, you ain’t look out
Lost up on her, fell in love with some good mouth
Look how times change, fresh as fuck after cookout
Damn near got a thirty-ball, like a three point shootout
Your bitch runnin' wild, put your foot down
Hammer with the ladder, like I’m working on a new house
Ridin' with the ladder, like a fire gettin' put out
Know a couple people feel I turned my back on 'em
I just had to get right, I was comin' back for 'em
'Bout twenty racks on 'em, all kinds of straps on 'em
45, 47, felt like Mike Epps on 'em
Pussy so good, I cut her off and got back focused
Come and get your bitch on fire, stiff-armed neck
So she a ten, I’mma hire her
Like I threw out a jack, just bought a just for my bitch, I ride with her on my
lap
Pull up to the bank, like «gimmie ten,» this for play-play
Bank teller a fan, he just called me by my stage name
How you think I’m doing bank plays?
'Bout to slide down, keep dick-suckin' my fake page
Get a little money, everybody swear they ain’t fake
Same ones left a nigga hangin', like the K. K
But that’s how shit go, took a plane cause I’m blessed
Man, these hoes so foul, I should complain to the ref
Your main bitch foul, she love the gang and she said «y'all petty.»
My nigga don’t slide for the love like R. Kelly
Yeah, you stabbed me in my back but those scars helped me
Why you ain’t believe in your dawg?
I had vision seein' us ball
Baby, why ain’t you believe in your nigga?
What you ain’t see in your nigga?
That you thought you see in those niggas?