Billy Jean lyrics

[Verse]
b*tch wanna f*ck but don't wanna leave
Yo homie in heaven playing god for the cheese
Smell reggie in the air, sh*t made me sneeze
Blow down a opp block, this finna be a breeze
Can't be trusted cuz the n*gga super sleaze
Pulled the pistol out of, four hundred dollar jeans
Put a n*gga body somewhere by the seas
Pop a n*gga dead in the brain, get him green
I done dogged, f*cked and stuffed Billie Jean
Hit the mall, and spend a long, light sleeve
n*ggas got to be sick that they can't f*ck with me
Im still coming up, your granny still wanna B
Your granddad like this sh*t, now he want a feat
Old ass got to come up like six fifty for a feat
n*ggas beating up they hoe cause she liked my pic
Three five zero for this motherf*cking fit
Sugar Hill jacket, I'm bout seven hundred drip
Still scream Krispylife til a motherf*cker dip
Off this earth, I'm getting money, you pus*y n*gga's hurt
He threw up a C, got him shot in the shirt
n*gga's want to eat but don't want to work
[?] on my head in case your b*tch want to flirt
Sitting in the trap, but not trapping, how that work?
Yeah we did that sh*t, now your mans on a shirt
We did that sh*t, now your mans on a shirt
We did that sh*t, alright look

This the part where I talk about the hoes too
Beat my b*tch up, but only when I supposed to
Yo n*gga screaming that he hard, but he froze too
I'm from Beecher, so I ain't said "posed to"

n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin
n*gga's dying bout a b*tch that we all hittin

n*gga's dying bout a b*tch, that we all hittin
My Glock bald-headed, I'm talking bout this b*tch extensions
n*gga's never on they block cause they know I'ma spin it
Hoes suck my meat, cause they know I'm spittin
Spent four-fifty on this jean fit and now I'm drippin
Kick that b*tch to the curb, her pus*y wasn't hittin
Block the ho number, she was doing too much trippin
Tell me it fell out your pocket mane, on that level I be pimpin