Boss b*tch lyrics

[Intro: Too $hort]
b*tch, tell that man you's a boss b*tch
Make some noise, raise your hand if you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand you's a boss b*tch

[Verse 1: Iggy Azalea & Too $hort]
I don't think he understand, I don't think he und–
Yeah, I just came fresh off the plane to Milan
And steppin' off the jet in pijams', b*tch, stand
Got your man in both hands
I'ma sleep on these hoes, got this ease, no Xan
I nail switch every two days on my fly sh*t
Hotel, only two stays, and it's bye b*tch
Legs spread only two ways, it be my b*tch (I don't think he understands)
Super hot flame, tell a b*tch, "Get off my di*k" (I don't think he–)
I don’t need no water
I got the super sticky, I don't need no buttеr
I got the hot girls, went 0-3 this summer
My b*tch got monеy, she don't need no come up
I'm ridin' downtown, b*tches'll pop down
I been still ballin', you b*tches are outta bounds
I'm in here sittin' pretty, and b*tches is locked out
You touch my man, a b*tch get knocked out
I'm fly, and b*tch, I'ma be for a hunnid years
LaFerrari Coupé, crankin' a hunnid gears
The money long as Runyon and I ain't runnin' there
Not the four, not the three (I don't think he understands)
The two, but the one in here, uh (I don't think he–)
[Chorus: Too $hort]
b*tch, tell that man you's a boss b*tch
Make some noise, raise your hand if you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand, I don't think he unders–
Tell that man you's a boss b*tch
Make some noise, raise your hand if you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understand you's a boss b*tch

[Verse 2: Iggy Azalea]
Okay, ow
Thirty inches in the deep wave right now
Manicure, pedicure, slice up my brows
Married to this fly sh*t, I recite my vows
Called up the banker, go rewrite my balance
Six million dollar home sold, it's a palace
Dusty hoes cannot drink from my chalice
Got the brain? Well, don't think, gimme knowledge
Not the senior high school, gimme college
Au revoir, ciao lil b*tches and I'm back
Heated floor, kitchen, midnight, I’m a snack
Caught him cheatin', now he wanna come back
Now every apology gotta come with a stack
Birkin bags and Bottega
Louis V, Prada, all of the four flavors
Put me somewhere nice with no neighbours
I be in their mouth, liquor with no chaser
I be, club, no ID
These b*tches love me, they stalk my IG
Got racks on racks, and I’m not YC
My seat’s blood red, but I’m not YG
My wrist wear sick like I’m the IV
I'm schoolin' these b*tches like I'm in IT
Speakin' of IT, I'm the IT
'Cause b*tch, I'm 'bout it whenever you try me, ay
[Outro: Too $hort]
I don't think he understands, I don't think he unders–
b*tch, tell that man you's a boss b*tch
Make some noise, raise your hand if you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understands you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understands, I don't think he unders–
Tell that man you's a boss b*tch
Make some noise, raise your hand if you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understands you's a boss b*tch
I don't think he understands you's a boss b*tch