[VERSE 1]
What you like, she said shopping
I said what else, she said mobbing
The past couple years have been kinda rough, so clothes is what I get lost in
I love it, do it often/ money, power, respect, Balenciga
2-7, 365, where my Pradas up in the hot tub
Got a lot of product, she rock Proenza
Said fuck her rent and just copped a Benz-a
Ain’t got no man, but she’s got a temper
Capricorn ass, born in December
In Phillip Lim and Timberlands, credit card no limit, Soulja Slim
Purse European, got the golden trim
Can’t organize shit, she just throws it in
Still on the A train, wearing A. Wang
Got the same bangs, tryn’a maintain it’s the same thing
Different day, different bangles, bling bling
Couple chains, couple rings do the damn thing
Man, they say it ain’t tricking if you got it
Well let me tell you, it ain’t tricking ‘cause bought it
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[HOOK]
I used to give a fuck, but not anymore
Got a bad thing, she walk in any store
She got a lot of friends, they all got plenty more
She brought a couple through, she calling twenty more
Bad bitches, bad bitches, bitches everywhere
Feeling like I got a Bad Bitch Concierge
Bad, bad, bad, bad bitches everywhere/
Feeling like I got a Bad Bitch Concierge
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[VERSE 2 - Curt@!n$]
Now Molly gone of that Mary Mary gone off that Molly
Me, I’m somewhere in the middle, getting Monie Love in this party
Got a young bitch that don’t cook or clean/ dress her ass off and she love McQueen
Never worked a day in her life nigga, her sugar daddy, boy that Celine
Thats a bad bitch, always talking that cash shit
30K in a zip lock, straight to the mall, she got a bag sick
What’s that jacket? Margiela
What them shoes ‘bout? Aaliyah
What’s that bag there?—don’t worry
What it cost ya?, a Honda
Them other hoes, getting pissed off
Can’t buy that with no gift card
Her ass real, her titties real
What that pussy ‘about?, I give it six stars
With the world in her hand, a real nigga in her corner
Head to the sky, that’s a bad bitch for ya’ sho’ nuff
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[HOOK]
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[VERSE 3]
My, my, my, my, my chick dressing like Fashion Week
Your, your, your, your, your chick, well her fashion’s weak
See, mine don’t talk she just let her wrist speak
Hipster, lipstick, light the Diptyque
Fresh to death, she’s resting in peace
Outfit—murder, chalking these cold streets
Fred Segal these hoes, she Rodarte-ing the game
Smelling like Bond #9, forty years of history all in them frames—vintage
Riding round the world—living
Own style she—different
Money talks and red bottoms walk, everybody listening
Looking like a model, feeling like a million
5 foot 11 when she up in them heels and
Grew up in Carson, moved to The Hills and oh so good, but she bad as a villian damn
Man, they say it ain’t tricking if you got it
Well let me tell you, it ain’t tricking ‘cause bought it
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[HOOK]
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