Текст песни Iggy Azalea - We In This Bitch

We got money in our pocket, and whatever you're sipping onRed-bottom limping around this bitchWhat the fuck you tripping on?Twenty goons, they in this bitch, you better check your toneAnd they gon put you back in place if you do something wrongWe in this bitch, yeah we in this bitchWe got a section full of girls and they barely speak any EnglishLet's toast it up to that life and I mean it We in this bitch, we in this hoI got the.40 on me now, who wants to Plaxico?Shout to Gangsta Gibbs, he the next to blowYou should see my gangster grill, I light the shit from blowSnowy car transforming instead of transformerYou ever cook the whole thing on a George Foreman?What about a nine on the gas grill?Four-fifty for the silk, pay my gas billSo many horses in the rari, park it in the barnTook the ice up out my cup and put it in my charmAnd this bad bitch with me from another planetStay on the satellite phone, man, I can't stand itHey baby girl, hang the phone upNo talking with your mouth full, you's a grown-upWhat the fuck? Who the hell?Flashback in this bitch, thought I seen a scale You know how we handle shit, gangster gutter glamorousZone One Atlanta shit, over all the amateursI'm walking off in here, a boss so, dog, approach with caution though

Disrespect is tolerated, that's some shit you ought to knowNiggas say they ball, yeah, but I'm balling harder thoughCold as the nose on a Appalachian EskimoIt finna go down, ho, popping bottles, drown hoesPaid niggas with us, ain't no broke niggas around soExcuse me, who is he? I don't do this usuallyBut I'm too fresh to fight, somebody go and get securityI'm buying this, buying that, getting that check and flyin jetBoucheron, Constantine, Puff like, where you find that?American at the nature, boy, a lot of nigga hate your boyPocket full of money, got more paper than a paperboyFuture, Jeezy, Cris, and DramaTip say, let's go get it popping I'm popping plenty bottles, like I got plenty bricksCall me Mr. Marcus, I'm in this bitchSuper drink, super smoke and some super hoesVIP looking like we won the fucking SuperbowlThirsty chicks trying to give it, I don't want itYou been in more laps than the Indy 500Conjure's what we drinking, faded til the world endNever see me planking, unless I'm on your girlfriendLudacris, I been a staple in this Southern gameGot the best lines, so I guess I'm slinging Southern caineMy money's louder, you rappers need to hush moreMy presidents rock, my accounts are Mount RushmoreOn the island and my phone is hitting dead spotsAltoid can of blue pills, that's my X-boxYou could hate, you could dis, you could make a wishBut eight albums, and Luda's still in this bitch
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