| Yeah
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| Cut it up gimme a light
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| Yeah and by the way n****
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| Its Young Mula, first lady
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| Uh yo yo
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| Let us begin with the bad lil' specimen
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| Balenciaga’s is all these things I be steppin' in
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| Gucci bathing suits, only thing I’m dressin' in
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| Cause I get wetter than a navy seal veteran
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| Got them writing love letters in they journal
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| Keep 'em on these toes like a midget at the urinal
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| B-b-b-bad as I wanna be
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| She ain’t bad she a sad little wannabe
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| Yeah f*** the bulls***
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| It’s big money poppin'
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| Young Mula!
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| Yeah
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| Just like that
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| What up young n****
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| Lets go Gudda, brrat
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| Okay we runnin' this s***, when we walk in the building
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| Got b****es from wall to wall, hoes hangin' from the ceiling
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| Young Money we 'bout to kill 'em, I promise I’ll make a million
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| And if they didn’t have no hands, I’ll bet them b****es go feel 'em
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| I’m talkin' money and power, you gettin' money? |
| I doubt it
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| Fresher than baby powder, with your b**** in the shower
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| That p**** I’m a devour, I beat it up till it’s sour
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| No need for you to even trip b**** I’ll be done in a hour
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| Let’s go!
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| Yeah
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| That’s more like it
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| Junior
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| They say the blacker the berry, the redder the cherry
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| I say sweeter it is, ya dig, buried
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| Then the bulls*** varies, and it got me weary
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| But I know two of the same, call it murdered and married
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| Hustlin' is so necessary, with no adversaries
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| But ain’t no love, like a calendar with no February’s
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| I’m a need four secretary, and four bloody Mary’s
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| I’m a go eat me some p****, and choke up the cherry
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| I’m gone
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| Yeah
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| Fully loaded with it, to the ceiling with it
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| More money than you ever seen n****
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| Aight, Drizzy, Drake
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| Look
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| Kill the game no one recovers the murder weapon
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| Young angel if ya hate me tell me burn in heaven
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| How’d you sleep on me, the highest earning freshmen
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| Like ya third infection, I hope ya learned ya lesson
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| Yeah
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| I spit raw but I prefer protection
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| I own her heart and her mind, and the shirt she slept in
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| B**** I got the answer, and still ain’t heard the question
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| I shut ya club down, please reserve my section
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| F*** a confrontation, there ain’t no cakin' it
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| And I’m cakin' b****, so tell me why I take a break from it
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| The mother of your child always tell you I’m her favorite
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| She call me her baby, not the one she was in labor with
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| She say 'oh you taste good', I say 'oh just savor it'
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| She know that she love a n****, I be on that major s***
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| Cause I get paid to stand, and I get paid to sit
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| So I don’t walk around with money, baby girl I’m made of it |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song F*** Da Bulls*** , by - Young Money. Song from the album We Are Young Money, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп