| Sweetheart, let me make you understand something
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| These bitch always gonna have a problem with you
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| For one you bad as a motherfucker
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| For two, your nigga have money
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| Keke and Te-te got Dreka and Ri-ri
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| My theme song on repeat, Mesha she a rider
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| Throwing dick inside her
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| No Baby Phat no BeBe
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| Isabel Marant, Emilio Pucci, Christian Louboutin
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| Sara operated careless
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| Mouth on me she do it wrong
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| Tonya get on top of me, probably while blowing strong
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| Excuse me, meant to say A+
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| Fuck up her hair and makeup
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| In her deep, she go to sleep
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| And when I leave she don’t wake up
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| When I walk in with that bag
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| She know it’s gon' be raining
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| Spending all that paper, it’s a damn shame ain’t it?
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| My little mama bad
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| Outfit look like it’s painted
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| When I threw that money up them hoes fainted
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| (Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| I buy her what she want and the world can’t understand it
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| My ho ain’t complaining)
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| Cocaine Aston Martin, I just bought that (I been scared to drive it)
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| My P.O. |
| find out he probably ask me «how the fuck you buy it?»
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| Pull into the club with a bag full of bands (Scurr) and a Maserati
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| Pants sagging, got it raining, her body painted
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| All the bitches turn they nose up, no my ho she’s not complaining
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| Spend a night with me vacation taken never make it famous
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| Head back to my trap, pull up in that Mercedes
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| Say she feel it in her stomach, grip her waist, she making faces
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| When I walk in with that bag
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| She know it’s gon' be raining
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| Spending all that paper, it’s a damn shame ain’t it?
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| My little mama bad
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| Outfit look like it’s painted
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| When I threw that money up them hoes fainted
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| I buy her what she want and the world can’t understand it
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| My ho ain’t complaining
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| Ice melting, champagne bottles
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| White sand around me, pay to watch her
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| Bad bitches in two-pieces your dame out here, wanna mainline her
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| I stay grinding, I can’t stop it need eight commas my strap on me
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| No seat-belt, make it spray, M-I-A, yeah he felt it
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| Big nuts with a lot of heart and a foreign car with a foreign broad
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| No rest and relaxation all my keys probably say «R&R»
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| Back to jail with this pistol then that might make me a falling star
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| When I walk in with that bag
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| She know it’s gon' be raining
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| Spending all that paper, it’s a damn shame ain’t it?
|
| My little mama bad
|
| Outfit look like it’s painted
|
| When I threw that money up them hoes fainted
|
| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
|
| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
|
| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| I buy her what she want and the world can’t understand it
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| Them bitches mad, but my ho ain’t complaining
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| My ho ain’t complaining |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Complaining , by - Kevin Gates. Song from the album Luca Brasi 2: Gangsta Grillz, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп