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Ice Spice - Y2K! Album Lyrics



Ice Spice - Y2K! Lyrics






Phat Butt

Uh
Man
(Stop playin' with 'em Riot)
(Yup)

Hatin' bitches be angry, hatin' bitches, they ain't me
How the f*ck I'm still chewin' bitches in gray shorts and a plain tee?
Mad as f*ck if I was them, D&G and it's custom
Cuban Link with a pink gem, I'm the one who they pumpin' (yup)
Rap bitch on a pop chart, toastin' bitches like Pop-Tarts
You's a flop, bitch, knock it off, where the champagne? I'ma pop it off
Bitch, you know you ain't like that, post a pic and he like that
Fat butt with a back tat, and I been bad like Mike Jack (yup)
Talk a lot, but ain't sayin' shit, I ain't hear your song, they ain't playin' it
Sloppy hoes gon' chat the most, if you make your bed, better lay in it
Name got the bitch gaggin', hit the bench up and tagged in
Bitch, you lost, throw the flag in, stay on a jet, but ain't laggin' (yup)

Got these bitches copyin' my pose
Got these bitches bitin' all my flows
Like ballerinas, keep 'em on they toes
And I really write, like f*ck a ghost (yup)

Chanel bags, and it's cashmere
Oh, I see why they mad, yeah (oh, I, oh, I)
Bum bitches had a bad year
Bitches stay on my Pauly D, send 'em back home like the cab's here
Sold half a milli' on a mixtape
Probably more on a quick tape, and it's all real, ain't shit fake (yup)
Never lucky, I been blessed, queen said I'm the princess
Been gettin' them big checks in a big house, havin' rich sex
Jamaican plug named Batman, pack smellin' like trash cans
Let him beat it from the back and he eat it up like Pac-Man (yup)
Niggas f*ck, but they ain't many, lil' body, but my name heavy
Baddest out and you can ask Getty, and I never lack 'cause I stay ready
Fat butt, pull my pants up, shakin' ass, got my bands up
Her man callin' and she mad as f*ck, bitch, be happy I don't answer (yup)

Oh, I see why they mad, my hearticle
We came from the four line to four times Grammy-nominated, word (yup)

Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my pants up
Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my, fat butt, pull mye
Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my
Fat-fat-fat-fat, fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my pants up
Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my pants up
Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my, fat butt, pull mye
Fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my
Fat-fat-fat-fat, fat butt, pull my pants up, fat butt, pull my pants up
Suck my dick
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Isis Gaston, Deangelo Hunt, Jamall Willingham, RIOTUSA, Bernard Leverette
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Oh Shh...

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Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher




Popa

Uh, uh
Uh, uh
Uh, uh, uh, uh
(Stop playin' with 'em, Riot)
Uh, uh

Came up out the hood, yeah, I got super lit (grrah)
Diamonds keep on dancin', got a stupid wrist (grrah)
He ain't f*ckin' on me, he got a stupid bitch (stupid bitch)
And he left that bitch 'cause I'm a cooler bitch (cooler bitch)
Bitch, she ain't no player, this a cooler, bitch (cooler, bitch)
Just me on the plane, yeah, and the stewardess
All this f*ckin' breesh, what to do with it? (grrah)
Munchin' on that popa like it's food in there (grrah)

Skin the color coca, put his nose in (nose in)
Told him that I love him, I was trollin' (trollin')
They ain't want me to win, I was chosen (chosen)
That bitch talkin' shit, she get poked in (grrah)
Tell her drop a pin, we ain't bowlin' (grrah)
Make them bitches sick, I got motion (like)
See her, I'm like, "Grrah," that's a slogan (like)
That bitch, she my twin, like the Olsens (like)

Came up out the hood, yeah, I got super lit (grrah)
Diamonds keep on dancin', got a stupid wrist (grrah)
He ain't f*ckin' on me, he got a stupid bitch (grrah)
And he left that bitch 'cause I'm a cooler bitch (grrah)
Bitch, she ain't no player, this a cooler, bitch (cooler, bitch)
Just me on the plane, yeah, and the stewardess (stewardess)
All this f*ckin' breesh, what to do with it? (like)
Munchin' on that popa like it's food in there (like)

And I feed him good 'cause he a eater (eater)
And he beat that cat, call up PETA (like)
When he goin' slow, tell him, "Speed up" (uh-huh)
Diamonds on my neck like I'm anemi'
I ain't anemi', (like) got that heater (grah)
Bad bitches, I'm your leader (leader)
Mad bitches wanna be her (like)
Bitches can't see me for nothin', like, "See ya" (grrah)

Came up out the hood, yeah, I got super lit (super lit)
Diamonds keep on dancin', got a stupid wrist (stupid wrist)
He ain't f*ckin' on me, he got a stupid bitch (stupid bitch)
And he left that bitch 'cause I'm a cooler bitch (cooler bitch)
Bitch, she ain't no player, this a cooler, bitch (cooler, bitch)
Just me on the plane, yeah, and the stewardess (stewardess)
All this f*ckin' breesh, what to do with it? (Do with it)
Munchin' on that popa like it's food in there (food in there)

Grrah
Uh, uh
Uh, uh
Uh, uh
Uh, uh, uh, uh
She a stupid bitch
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ephrem Louis Lopez Jr., Javier Mercado, Isis Naija Gaston, Daniel Mohsen Mohammadi
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Bitch I'm Packin'

[ Featuring Gunna ]

Yo
Yeah, Wunna
(Grrah, grrah, grrah, grrah)
Ice
(Grrah, grrah)
(Stop playin' with 'em, RIOT)

Bitch, I'm packin' (packin')
Got that jatt on me (yeah)
Yeah, he jackin' me (jackin' me)
Got the racks on me (got the racks on me)
Got that stack on me (got the stack on me)
Got that strap on me (got the strap on me)
I got what he need (yeah)
He got what I need (grrah)
Bitch, I'm packin' (packin')
Got that jatt on me (yeah)
Yeah, he jackin' me (jackin' me)
Got the racks on me (got the racks on me)
Got that stack on me (got the stack on me)
Got that strap on me (got the strap on me)
I got what he need (yeah)
He got what I need (grrah)

He got felonies (grrah), he got hella weed (grrah)
His bitch ride it really good, but I got better knees (grrah)
Mixed bitch (mixed bitch), ain't no pedigree (mm)
Rich bitch (rich bitch), I got amenities
F*ck is you tellin' me? (Is you tellin' me?)
Bitch, you lackin' (bitch, you lackin')
Bitch, you actin' (bitch, you actin')
You get packed in (you get packed in)
Don't get packed in (don't get packed in)
You ain't single, nigga
I know you cappin' (I know you cappin')
I know you cappin'
Oh, you tappin'? (Oh, you tappin'?)
Oh, you wanna tap in? (Oh, you wanna tap in?)
Oh, you wanna mack then? (Oh, you wanna mack then?)
Oh (oh), mm, bad as f*ck on the magazine (magazine)
Mm, high as f*ck, what is happening? (Grrah)

Bitch, I'm packin' (packin')
Got that jatt on me (yeah)
Yeah, he jackin' me (jackin' me)
Got the racks on me (got the racks on me)
Got that stack on me (got the stack on me)
Got that strap on me (got the strap on me)
I got what he need (yeah)
He got what I need (grrah)

Yeah, high as astrology, every day I smoke broccoli (ha)
Racks keep callin' me (racks)
All these boys my prodigies (my prodigies)
Miu Miu and Prada jeans, (yeah) who got stuff I'm tryna see? (Stuff)
You my bitch, don't lie to me, get an AP for my apology (for my apology)
SVJ, the Aventador, (skrr) my Lambo slide like centipede (skrr)
Skyin' me, my top off, got my shirt off, (yeah) she can see the V
I just landed from Rome and now her Pucci came from Italy
Ice, she got on stones to set the tone, I match her energy
Bitch, you know I ain't lackin' (yeah)
I got tricks from New Orleans
Bitch, you know what's happenin' (bitch, you know what's happenin')
Boy, don't do no cappin' (do no cappin')
Booby Trap, I left the trap, I'm geeked up in Atlanta (geeked)
Blue 'Scotti, fill up, like, roll me up with some (roll me up with some)

Bitch, I'm packin' (packin', packin')
Got that jatt on me (yeah)
Yeah, he jackin' me (jackin' me)
Got the racks on me (got the racks on me)
Got that stack on me (got the stack on me)
Got that strap on me (got the strap on me)
I got what he need (yeah)
He got what I need (grrah)
Bitch, I'm packin' (packin')
Got that jatt on me (yeah)
Yeah, he jackin' me (jackin' me)
Got the racks on me (got the racks on me)
Got that stack on me (got the stack on me)
Got that strap on me (got the strap on me)
I got what he need (yeah)
He got what I need (grrah)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Mark Williams, Philip Andre Mueller, Ephrem Louis Lopez Jr., Raul Ignacio Cubina, Sergio Kitchens, Isis Naija Gaston
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Plenty Sun

The beat so hard, I don't even gotta say nothin'
(Stop playin' with 'em, RIOT)

He like, "Bae, you hella fine but you hella young"
I'm like, "Baby, don't you worry, I'm like twenty-something" (grrah)
He like, "Okay, so you pop to stay, you get enough"
On my tongue-y tongue (grrah), he put his thumby thumb (grrah)

He got plenty funds
We done hit the strip club, he got plenty ones (plenty ones)
We done hit his traphouse, he got many guns (many guns)
Brody took a fake perc now he got tummy rum's (tummy rum's)
I ain't got no f*ckin' kids, I got hella sons (grrah)
And you chillin' with a star, not just anyone (grrah)
And you're chillin' with a star, like it's plenty sun (grrah)
And I packed a whole zip, I got dirty lungs (grrah)
And I post my fire pics, yeah, the Getty ones (Damn)
Ain't got time for them bitches, yeah, them bitches bums (bitches bums)
I ain't got a lot of friends, I'm meticulous (like)
All them damn diamonds on me look ridiculous (grrah)
All them damn diamonds on me look ridiculous (grrah)
All them damn diamonds on me look ridiculous (grrah)
All them damn diamonds on me look ridiculous (grrah)
All them damn diamonds on me look ridiculous (ridiculous, ridiculous)

He like, "Bae, you hella fine but you hella young"
I'm like, "Baby, don't you worry, I'm like twenty-something" (grrah)
He like, "Okay, so you pop to stay, you get enough"
On my tongue-y tongue (grrah), he put his thumby thumb (grrah)

You know I'm too fine to be single 'cause I got a man ('cause I got a man)
But you cute, I f*ck with you, I cancel all my plans (all my plans)
Put that shit on, think he fly, he think he Peter Pan (Peter Pan)
How you bitches mad at me? I thought she need a man (need a man)
Said, "What you tryna do?" (grrah) "Get me fooled on some bags and designer shoes?" (grrah)
You ain't crackin' 'til you sign this, I got shit to lose (shit to lose)
And you munchin' first, nigga, I don't make the rules (huh, make the rules)
And you ask a lot of shit, nigga, this ain't class (huh, this ain't class)
You just gotta know I'm bad with a lot of ass (lot of ass)
You just gotta know I'm paid with a lot of plaques (lot of plaques)
And I always come in first, yeah, I'm never last (never last)

He like, "Bae, you hella fine but you hella young"
I'm like, "Baby, don't you worry, I'm like twenty something" (grrah)
He like, "Okay, so you pop to stay, you get enough"
On my tongue-y tongue (grrah), he put his thumby thumb (grrah)

And you're chillin' with a star, like it's plenty sun
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ephrem Louis Lopez Jr., Javier Mercado, Isis Naija Gaston, Daniel Mohsen Mohammadi
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Did It First

[ Featuring Central Cee ]

Tell me, baby, do you understand?

If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (like)
No Uno, I hit the reverse (grrah)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (grrah)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first (like)
If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (damn)
I ain't trippin', I- (I ain't trippin', I-)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (like)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first

He beg me to stay, but I'm dippin'
I don't even drink, but I'm sippin'
We not f*ckin', but he put the tip in (grrah)
He get on my nerves, but I'm with it (grrah)
I start thinkin' when he get up in it
I'm like, "Damn, I knew you for a minute" (damn)
I don't want them niggas in our business (like)
I'm like, "Bae, you know you the realest" (grrah)
I'm like, "F*ck it," I know he gon' spend (like)
I'm with Tati and her thotty friend
We like, "F*ck it," we f*ckin' his friends (grrah)
We gon' party 'til the party ends
I'm a baddie, he f*ck with my tats (like)
Big boobs and it come with a jatt
Say he don't want me, I know he a cap (cap)
Oh, you cheatin'? Then I'm cheatin' back

If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (like)
No Uno, I hit the reverse (grrah)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (grrah)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first (like)
If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (damn)
I ain't trippin', I- (Alright)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (like)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first (Uh)

I'm selective with who I get with
Gyal on my phone tryna see who I slept with
She investigating, detective
Lucky for me, I deleted the message
All along, it was me and a bad bitch
But I told her it was me and my bredrin
By the end of this verse, I'll be done
I guess we gon' see in like sixteen seconds
If I went court for all of the times I got caught
I'd have about sixteen felons
I keep comin' with stupid excuses
Like, "I was juiced and tripped and fell in"
I might take the risk DMing
But I don't know 'cause these chicks be tellin'
At the minute, I'm hittin' some risky women
I clearly ain't learn my lesson

If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (like)
No Uno, I hit the reverse (grrah)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (grrah)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first (like)
If he cheatin', I'm doin' him worse (damn)
I ain't trippin', I- (I ain't trippin', I-)
I ain't trippin', the grip in my purse (like)
I don't care, 'cause he did it first

He did it first, he did it first, he did it first, he did it first
He did it first, he did it first, he did it first
Alright
Understand
Baby, do you understa-sta-sta-sta-sta-sta-
Ooh
Baby, do you understand?
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Isis Gaston, Oakley Caesar-Su, Lily Kaplan, Nicolas Baran, RIOTUSA
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




BB Belt

(Stop playin' with 'em, Riot)

Truey's on and I BB my belt (like)
I'm Miss Poopie, but I never smell (grrah)
He hit my line 'cause he know I'm a sell (grrah)
He got a bitch, but he know I don't tell (like)
I'm a baddie so f*ck how she felt (grrah)
I'm a baddie like, f*ck how you feel (damn)
And I'm thick 'cause I don't miss a meal

And I'm lit 'cause I just signed a deal (grrah)
Everybody be knowin' my name (like)
Just want the money, I don't want the fame (like)
And I'm different, they ain't in my lane (grrah)
Countin' up hundreds, it's how I stay sane (like)
Picture perfect, he lovin' my frame (damn)
I'm a baddie, I do what I do (do what I do)
Like, I'm bad, but my bitches is too (like)
And they know how to move (move)
Niggas flock, we go ku (ku)
I don't get introduced
Yeah, I'm that bitch, so they stealin' my juice
This one bitch is built like an ant, ew (ew)
Crash outs, and they goin' on rants
Cash cow, I be gettin' them bands (damn)
Bitches switchin' but they wasn't trans (grrah)

Truey's on and I BB my belt (like)
I'm Miss Poopie, but I never smell (grrah)
He hit my line 'cause he know I'm a sell (grrah)
He got a bitch, but he know I don't tell (like)
I'm a baddie so f*ck how she felt (grrah)
I'm a baddie like, f*ck how you feel (damn)
And I'm thick 'cause I don't miss a meal

And I'm thick, but I don't got a waist (damn)
Think she pretty, but changin' her face (damn)
Fallin' behind like, bitch, pick up your pace
It was funny 'til I took her place
Her man callin', but I be like, "Who this?" (Who this?)
I'm a switchy bitch, I really do this (damn)
Lightskin, but I'm black, you can tell by my hair (hair)
I get money, bitch, I am a millionaire (millionaire)
Walk in the party, everybody gon' stare (what?)
If I ain't the one, why the f*ck am I here, hm?

Truey's on and I BB my belt (like)
I'm Miss Poopie, but I never smell (grrah)
He hit my line 'cause he know I'm a sell (grrah)
He got a bitch, but he know I don't tell (like)
I'm a baddie so f*ck how she felt (grrah)
I'm a baddie like, f*ck how you feel (damn)
And I'm thick 'cause I don't miss a meal
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ephrem Louis Lopez Jr, Isis Naija Gaston
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Think U The Shit (Fart)

What the f*ck I'ma say in the intro?
Hahaha
You want me to say somethin' so bad
(Stop playin' with 'em, RIOT)
Can you, please?

Think you the shit, bitch?
You not even the fart (grrah)
I be goin' hard (grrah)
I'm breakin' they hearts, like
Bitches be quick, but I'm quicker (like)
Bitches be thick, but I'm thicker (like)
She could be rich, but I'm richer (damn)

Take-takin' her man (takin' her man)
Don't give a f*ck (don't give a f*ck)
Out in the Yams (out in the Yams)
And I'm keepin' one tucked (keepin' one tucked)
I make me some jams (I make me some jams)
Unlocked that advance (unlock that advance)
I said four hundred bands (I said four hundred bands)
Just to do my lil' dance (grrah)
Bitch, I'm a brand (like)
Bitch, I'm a baddie, I get what I want (damn)
All in Balenci', I look like a bum
I got the jatty, he just wanna hump (hump)
Walk through and start shakin' my hips
I'ma dip when I stack all my chips (like)
Strip a dummy, I want the whole 'fit
I got a French nigga sendin' me tips, grrah

Think you the shit, bitch?
You not even the fart (grrah)
I be goin' hard (grrah)
I'm breakin' they hearts, like
Bitches be quick, but I'm quicker (like)
Bitches be thick, but I'm thicker (like)
She could be rich, but I'm richer (damn)

His bitch at home playin' dress-up (huh?)
She must've thought she could catch up (grrah)
I got my foot on they necks, I can't let up (grrah)
She all on the floor, told her, "Get up" (get up)
She my son, but I ain't her mammy (I ain't her mammy)
Bitches can't stand me (bitches can't stand me)
Eat through my panties (eat through my panties)
Hard knock life, no Annie
I need a vacay, I'm losin' my tan (damn)
I'd lose anything before my man
I'm a pretty bitch, I don't like fightin'
On the beat, I'm goin' Super Saiyan (grrah)
I said, "Mirror, mirror, who the fairest?" (Huh?)
Leave a bum nigga lookin' embarrassed (like)
Spent a hundred-fifty on some carats (grrah)
That shit cray like them niggas in Paris

Think you the shit, bitch?
You not even the fart (grrah)
I be goin' hard (grrah)
I'm breakin' they hearts, like
Bitches be quick, but I'm quicker (like)
Bitches be thick, but I'm thicker (like)
She could be rich, but I'm richer (damn)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Isis Naija Gaston, Javier Mercado, RIOTUSA, Steven Giron
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.




Gimmie A Light

Just gimme di light and pass the dro
Buss anotha bokkle a Moët
Gyal dem inna mi sight and I gots to know
Which one is gonna catch my flow (stop playing with 'em, Riot)

Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)
Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)

Big knock, like I'm not a fighter (grrah)
Big Ice, I don't need a writer (like)
Her man callin' me baby (grrah)
I'm Miss Poopie like I need a diaper (grrah)
Watch your mouth 'cause my bitch get scrappy (scrappy)
F*ck you mean, bitch? It never gave tacky (what?)
Off the liquor, we be gettin' nasty (huh?)
Ghetto fabulous and fancy (damn)
She gettin' loud, but nobody moved (word)
Talk of the town, I'm makin' the news (facts)
Pretty-ass face and some pretty-ass boobs
Pretty-ass bitch, I be shakin' the room (grrah)
Stank-ass bitch tryna grill me
She actin' lost, but of course, she in tune (grrah)

Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)
Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)

I take her man out of boredom (grrah)
Bad bitch, came straight outta Fordham (grrah)
Now I'm rockin' Balenci' (damn)
I remember I couldn't afford 'em (damn)
Like bitches be losin' the plot (damn)
And that's how I got to the top (grrah)
And, no, I don't got any opps (grrah)
Like, why would I beef with a flop? (Grrah)
Like let's talk drill (grrah)
Who bigger than she? (Like)
Who prettier too? (Like)
Two-fifty to get in the booth (damn)
Like let's be real (grrah)
Who bigger than me? (Grrah)
Who littier too? (Grrah)
That's why I could take your boo (damn)

Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)
Hotboxin' the V like, "Gimme a light" (where it's at?)
Fat ass, so the pants fit tight (yeah)
Take her man, I'm gettin' him right (yeah)
Big knock like why would I fight? (Grrah)

Jus gimme di light and pass the dro
Buss anotha bokkle a Moët
Gyal dem inna mi sight and I gots to know
Which one is gonna catch my flow
Cah me inna the vibes and I got my dough
Buss anotha bokkle a Moët
Gyal dem lookin' hype and I gots to know
One, two, three, four
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Isis Naija Gaston, RIOTUSA, Sean Paul Henriques, Troy Rami
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




TTYL

(Grrah, grrah, grrah)

First thing when I wake up (grrah)
I make sure my cake up (cake up)
I do my hair, put a lil' bit of makeup (grrah)
Of course, I'm the baddest, them bitches be haters (haters)
All black, dressed like a skater
No friends, bitches be faker (grrah)
No rocks, no scissors (grrah, hehe)
Just gettin' that paper (grrah)

Gettin' that paper like I never had it (like)
Empty the store is my only bad habit (grrah)
Empty the clip if them bitches want static (work)
Shakin' that shit, so he wanna grab it (grrah)
I tell his bitch to go play in some traffic (work)
Five stars when I'm lunchin' (lunchin')
Bad bitch, so he munchin' (munchin')
Shoot a movie at Dunkin
I'm a brand, it's nothin' (nothin')
I'm a star on TV (grrah)
All in my face, what them bitches won't see (grrah)
All in my comments, they suckin' my D
Shakin' my head, I be suckin' my teeth, please
Like, I know I'm that bitch who that bitch wanna be, grrah

First thing when I wake up (grrah)
I make sure my cake up (cake up)
I do my hair, put a lil' bit of makeup (grrah)
Of course, I'm the baddest, them bitches be haters (haters)
All black, dressed like a skater
No friends, bitches be faker (grrah)
No rocks, no scissors (grrah, hehe)
Just gettin' that paper (grrah)

Talkin' shit on the net, I'ma drag her (drag her)
No call for that bitch, like, why would I tag her? (Why?)
That's why her man wanna play in my clappers (clappers)
We in the V and we playin' my slappers, damn
It's baddies galore (whoa)
She lookin' right in that Christian Dior
And I don't even drink, but I'm lettin' her pour, grrah
She shake it, shake it (shake it)
Gettin' naked, naked (naked)
Be on my live, tryna throw me his stick
And I'm cappin' to him like I know how to take it (like)
It's cool, I'ma fake it (fake it)
I just let him taste it
He talkin' nice, so I'm lettin' him crack it
I'm throwin' it back, I'm like, "Baby, don't break it" (break it)

First thing when I wake up (grrah)
I make sure my cake up (cake up)
I do my hair, put a lil' bit of makeup (grrah)
Of course, I'm the baddest, them bitches be haters (haters)
All black, dressed like a skater
No friends, bitches be faker (grrah)
No rocks, no scissors (grrah, hehe)
Just gettin' that paper (grrah)

(Like)
(Like, I'ma talk to you later)
(Grrah, gettin' that paper)
(Talk to you later)
(Grrah, I'ma talk to you later)
(Grrah, I be gettin' that paper)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ephrem Louis Lopez Jr, Isis Naija Gaston
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Back to: Ice Spice


Y2K! is the upcoming debut studio album by American rapper Ice Spice. It is expected to be released under 10K Projects and Capitol Records on July 26, 2024. The album contains guest appearances from Travis Scott, Gunna, and Central Cee.
Genre(s): Hip hop
Length: 23:18
Released: July 26th, 2024
Year: 2024

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