Stretch Marks & Cigarette Burns lyrics

[Intro]
Woo-han
What
Who han, Woo han
What up n*ggas
It's crazy
Yo Panchi
Call Sha
Call Premo
Tell them let's meet in the club
Yo

[Verse 1: Blaq Poet]
I came in the club with a couple of goons
We was already drunk, now we're smoking the [?]
Little shorty on the stage, she was wilding, dancing
Whole motherf*cking crowd screaming, chanting
"Move something, shake something
Break something, b*tch"
I was like "Oh sh*t, what the f*ck they're saying?"
But shorty don't care 'cause she had these n*ggas paying
Had them n*ggas laying out all their bread
Had them n*ggas standing on their motherf*cking head
Had them n*ggas waiting on line for their turn
n*ggas love stretch marks and cigarette burns

[Hook: Blaq Poet (w/ scratches by DJ Premier)]
"Move something, shake something
Break something, b*tch"
I was like, "Oh sh*t, what the f*ck they're saying?"
Stretch marks and cigarette burns
"Move something, shake something
Break something, b*tch"
I was like
("Yo, what the f*ck are they yelling?")
Stretch marks and cigarette burns

[Verse 2: Panchi]
Yo this is for my b*tches in the shelters who don't need shelter
You're just doing that sh*t for a crib
And all my bad little b*tches, if your baby father hit you
Stick that ice cold knife in his ribs
And all my b*tches pimp the system, [?] tell your workers
f*ck that, you gon' have more kids
And you ain't have them 'cause you need them, but now, you got to feed them
So you figure that your ass gonna strip
In the club setting, n*ggas dancing, bra sweating
As the bass booms, more sweat consumes
And you wonder how thousands can fit in a room
The speakers is bumping 'til it damn near pop
These hoes is dancing 'til they damn near drop
But I sit back and observe the whole scenery
And nonchalantly tell you what it mean to me
The filer says no boots and jeans
I'm in the back blowing trees, dipped in army fatigues
Little b*tch on my back, when will I learn
Not to f*ck with stretch marks and cigarette burns
[Sample]
("Yo, what the f*ck are they yelling?")

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Imani Montana]
Got love b*tches, sliding down the pole b*tches
Twelve to four b*tches, don't matter, you're my b*tches
Stretch marks and cigarette burns, alright, b*tches
Can't knock your grind, live your life, b*tches
Get money, be the best at what you do
c*cksucker want to judge, tell them, motherf*ck you
You done mastered the art of this seduction sh*t
See homie came tonight but hopes he can f*ck your sh*t
[?] n*gga [?] screaming we don't love them hoes
Type to question why [?] dance to her pole
But he f*cking with [?] but she buying him clothes
Telling ass n*gga, G's don't take you on the road
In tune with the soul, can't tell me nothing
Have a man [?] lick it up, fronting
Who you think you fooling, look at you drooling
Love what's she doing, what is she doing
Top on the pole, thick, legs in a split
Working her way down like she's riding your di*k
Now you want to lick every burn and stretch marks
What else can I say, we the best, ma