Migos - Wishy Washy Lyrics

[Hook - Quavo:]
You know these hoes wishy washy
They'll f**k your partner
Take all of your guala, take your guala
You know these hoes wishy washy
They hop in my bed, they can't wait to open their legs
They walk in the mall, they can't wait to spend all my bread
Wishy washy, wishy washy, these hoes wishy washy
Wishy washy, these hoes wishy washy
Wishy washy, I can not trust them
Wishy washy, I can not love them
You gotta watch them, these hoes wishy washy

[Verse 1 - Quavo:]
Let me tell you a story
'Bout this lil' bit named Tamar
She'll let you smash for sure today
And then smash your partner tomorrow
She'll ask you can you take care of her
That'll cost you 'bout a couple hundred dollars
Everybody know lil' mama on go
Everybody call her hundred gobbler
Got hoes on hoes like a rasta
Is it because of my posture?
But I know it's cause a nigga's dollars
She got a baby, no, I'm not the father
She too wishy washy, she'll go in your pocket
And break your wallet, and you know she got it
But I got the knowledge to go tell her stop it
And she shake like an 8 hit a corner pocket
You can not play me
You know you're too wishy washy
Kick her out the house politely
We noticed you was too excited
No we not going for it, no we not going
You're too wishy washy lil' b**ch and you know it
Ain't got time for a kid, the lil' b**ch at the front door

[Hook]

[Verse 2 - Offset:]
These hoes wishy washy
Ain't no doubt about it
Quick to put your finger in a young nigga's wallet
And I know you f**kin' my partner
Quick to f**k a nigga for a couple hunna
High class pimpin' these niggas, she got the formula
Suckin' my anaconda, got the flower aroma
And on my mama I'm not f**kin' these b**ches without a condom
Wishy washy
Cut these b**ches off like hibachi
I'm f**kin' her and her whole posse
If you wanna f**k her then you gotta pay deposit
She givin' up her pussy for the profit
Her mama keep beggin' her to stop it
She really wanna be on red carpets
These b**ches ain't sh*t, it's in the Bible
Talkin' 'bout you got a baby in your stomach
These b**ches are funny
They're tryna take a nigga's money
I ain't got no feelings for no b**ches, I'm numbing
Up to par, my swag from London
These b**ches bad, ain't worth nothin'
I'm just sayin', I can see your plan
You wanna get married to a rich man

[Hook]

[Verse 3 - Takeoff:]
I can't f**k with you b**ches, you wishy washy
Neiman Marcus shoppin', she want me to spoil her rotten
But I know that she's plottin' mama said don't trust nobody
This b**ch is a vegetarian, all she want is broccoli
I told her if she knew better, she would prolly do better
That Rolex is a Skylander, got gold all on my Margielas
Pullin' up in a Bentley, no Mr. Bentley
She askin' me where my umbrella
Fox fur, put on my mink, chinchilla
Flawless diamonds, it's gon' be a cold winter, burr, burr
Don't wanna f**k you, lil' mama, I just want head
These b**ches, they can't wait to open their legs
But soon as she pull in my driveway
Pull up to my front door, she got the panties in her hand
She know how to work the pots and pans
She watchin' me like I'm on demand
She the bomb, Osama Bin (Osama Bin Laden!)

[Hook]