Lyrics: Tamia Monique Carter/Katrina Laverne Taylor/Maiya Early/Jonathan McClarin/Patti LaBelle/Carzell Frost/Reginald Saunders
Music: Tamia Monique Carter/Katrina Laverne Taylor/Maiya Early/Jonathan McClarin
[Intro]
Grr, Run It Up
[Chorus: J.K. Mac]
Callin' my shit like hold on (Hold on)
She tryna **** sumn
All on my trap phone
Slide if you want to
Way that you talking
You finna leave with yo' back blown
[Verse 1: Flo Milli]
She callin' my shit like (Huh?)
Let me pick it up, let me get right (Hello?)
I done went ghost, now he all alone (Bye)
Bet he tryna see what that feel like
I told that nigga, "Speak to them greenlights"
I can't stop it 'til I hear a moan
We get together, don't answer the phone (Put it down)
They be trippin' like, baby, we grown
Baby, we grown
They sayin' "Yo' bitch perfect" (Hello?)
You get to spin in thΠ΅ block, they hurtin'
Bad ass bitch, you can tell by the waist
Don't hit from thΠ΅ back, I'm pretty in the face
Okay, I just been holdin' my weight
They didn't believe and a bitch tryna eat off my plate
Okay, tryna cross me, I'ma give you a taste
He wanna save a ho, give him a cake
I know these hoes wanna be me
Blue face bands to the bank, call me Keke
Shittin' on hoes 'cause I
Shakin' my ass, he ain't know I was freaky (Ooh)
Ayy, white toes, mellation on a bundle
He whipped it out, I saw a anaconda
I just wake up and think about the hundos
I can't go back and forth with a nigga that
But it ain't no love in this bitch (No love)
Hop out with J.K., my nigga be poppin' this shit
I always knew I would be rich
I came from the bottom now I'm at the top of they list
I tell a ho she can dip (Bye)
Fly ass bitch, can't copy this drip
He wanna go on a trip
When I hop on it, I hope he can handle thisβ
[Bridge: Flo Milli]
Callin' my shit like
Let me pick it up, let me get right
Yeah, yeah, callin' my shit like
Let me pick it up, let me get right
[Verse 2: Maiya The Don]
I'm ****in' some hoes, no problem
These all black pumps got red at the bottom
Yeah, I'm from Brooklyn
But I'm good on all hoods from to Harlem (Brooklyn)
Ain't no competition, I'm lookin' a bum and you fit the description
Pleasure my wrist, watch how it glisten
Any bitch step to me get stepped on (Stepped on)
Seven-figure talk just to **** with the big Don (Yeah)
I pop shit through my big ones, take a whole salary, ice out my left arm (Ice, ice)
Tell a ho, "Google me," I been that girl, this attention ain't new to me
Shorty subtweetin' and won't say my name (Pussy)
Put an at on it since I don't do ambiguity
Bitches is boring, respectfully
I say what I want and ain't nobody checkin' me
Why would you watch me from fake pages? (Huh?)
Admit it, lil' bitch, you high key obsessed with me
Rich bitch status, you know my swag is
Iced out diamonds
I'm the biggest, should put me in Guiness
I broke the record for shittin' on bitches
Callin' my shit like hold on (Hold on)
She tryna **** sumn
All on my trap phone
Slide if you want to
Way that you talking
You finna leave with yo' back blown
[Verse 3: Trina]
Callin' my shit, I'm like, "Hold on" (Hold on)
Hangin' in the states
Gettin' ****ed on
A bad ass bitch
Since i hopped out the Porsche
I've been that bitch
She say she hotter, she don't exist
No bitch standing next to this
I'm hotter than lava (Yeah)
Let's keep it real, bitch, I been a problem
She doing the dash, she back in the bed
Gettin' all that she after is commas
She don't do the drama (Nah)
Stay in your lane 'cause you don't wanna wake up my other persona
I don't do rappin', gon' need you a donor
This bitch in a coma
Smell the aroma
Can't breathe bitch 'cause I'm ****in' pneumonia
Then the pneumonia
Bring in the body back
Then do a quickie
Call up a nigga and slip him a mickey
Give him a hickey
Wallet up in me
And all of that money, I'm takin' it with me
Callin' my shit like
It ain't no love in this bitch
Yeah, yeah, callin' my shit like
It ain't no love in this bitch
I done went ghost, now he all alone
Bet he tryna see what that feel like
Tell a nigga he can dip