Lyrics I'm That N*gga - Robb Bank$

I'm That N*gga

Sure, sure, sure, sure, sure, sure, sure
S.S. shit, nigga
Mind ya business
I’m gettin' head while the phone ring
I’m that nigga, I’m that nigga, I’m that nigga
Still that nigga, still that nigga, still that nigga
I been that nigga, I been that nigga, I been that nigga
Oh that’s yo' nigga?
Oh that’s yo' nigga?
Ho, fuck yo' nigga!
Suck my whole D, I get on that booty like a pirate
Fire red 911, take a moment of silence
Asked for a .5 or a .6 so broke might feel bad, might front you a whole
Y’all got the wrong nigga, you seen what happen at that A$AP show
Goddamn, I might need a shot of prometh' straight
I take your bitch on a date
Down south tone, all downed in the attire
Got a dunk, on deuces, and only Broward touch the tires
Got a 20-aged Malaysian babe, got a daughter by the month of May
Dooney snort a molly with her just so she stay comfortable
Yeah I said yo' government in my song
Well, ain’t that 'bout a bitch?
Ho niggas parting their lace fronts, talm' bout how they gon' split my wig, shit
(Y'all niggas pie!)
You a lie (lie!), and I understand why
You and your bitch been so comfy, and her pussy so fie
I’d be sleep too if I ain’t sell out and come out of hibernation 'fore a nigga
leap
Niggas put a dog face in they tee and try to act like they thoroughbred
I say turn the lights on, Savage looking for her
Corner store white tee, them bitches on the beach think I’m a fucking fashion
icon, bitch
Salt water tears when I tell a bitch my real name
But woe, no complaints from over there
If she saw it look like my dick grew for a hundred years, bitch!
Lip-bitin' animal
No fronts, need collateral for mine
And yo' bitch wish a nigga would, like she ask for the dick 3 times
And there ain’t no stems picked out mine, so baggage keeping count of the cake
Like birthday candles
Mix that yellow xan' with that green xan' got me feeling like a new nigga
And that new bitch ass that’s so thick
I don’t much know how to put my lips on her
It’s the wizard of the O-Z, call that white girl Dorothy
And I can’t believe I let you in my home, bitch
But Florida ain’t Kansas
But my booster sent you off, better not forget shit
Clickin' red bottom heels won’t get your ass back to my crib
Panamera;
talk about it, cause I bought it;
White Sprite
Ball with loose dollars, I color contrast like an artist, shit
Basquiat, Basquiat, say she want her son to look like Basquiat
Well, baby, let’s repopulate
Only things that I don’t have, is that it can’t be gift wrapped, shit
'Port burning, Agent Provocateur showing
Tone of the skin, Alaskan, so she don’t get wet, she start snowing
And she a bad bitch, hit the pole like Edie Sedgewick
Mod bitches only come in black in white
But I put some color in her beverage
Still got my Gunrise boo and she only smoke bouquet
If I buy her that Miu Miu, maybe she’ll raise my Mewtwo