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Mustard on the beat hoeI′m that nigga with the plugsI’m the nigga who got homies that be sellin′ drugsI’m that nigga on the back streetWith the fat heat, niggas better run like athletesI’m that nigga, I′m that niggaMy Bank of America account got six figuresI′m that nigga on the blockPolice pull up, I’m tryna stash the GlockYou that nigga on the low-lowYou the niggaYou′re the one that be talkin’ to the poposPorsche sittin′ on ForgisNiggas can’t afford theseThe Panamera shittin′ on the 9-11I call my homies, not 911I’m that nigga with the juiceBut I’ll never do my nigga like Pac did QBitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?I got a shorty name Texas SynShe got a buddy named Young JB and now you know the dealWe turnt up in the studio, late nightThat′s why the songs that you hear are comin′ real tightOVO crew, nigga, thought I told youIf you a player in the game, this should hold youAnd man shout my nigga Game he just rolled throughEatin’ crab out in Malibu at NobuA lot of fools puttin′ salt in the gameUntil these women get the notion that they runnin’ the gameThey got money that they jumpin′ on the pole to makeDid the motto, took a flight to the golden stateI’m the general, just makin′ sure my soldiers straightHad to leave my nigga, homie got an open caseBut I’m big on the west like I’m big in the southSo we gon′ pay some people off, we gon′ figure it outAnd my name too big and my gang too bigYoung Money shit, me and Lil Wayne too bigI’ma crush that ass even if it ain′t too bigI would pinky swear but my pinky ring too bigBitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?I’m that nigga, I′m that niggaBank of America account got six figuresI’m that nigga on the blockFat heat, run like athletesI′m that nigga, I’m that niggaBank of America account got six figuresI’m that nigga on the blockWho do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Bitch, who do you love?Nigga we street and we hoodAin′t nobody ever gave us shitWhen you see us shinin′It’s because we steady grindin′We stay paper chasin’Separatin′ the real from the fakeThe fake from the realWe livin’ to die and dyin′ to liveNigga, that’s why we got so many womenI’m tryna go deep, hit them asscheeksBust them guts, make her cumBitch, you know the gameAin′t a motherfuckin′ thing changeBitch, who do you love?Alright, hold upI done lost too many hommies in these past couple of yearsThis shit brazyRest in peace, my nigga CJ MackRest in peace, my nigga Cedar Block Frog thoughRest in peace, my nigga Tiny MAnd last but not least, rest in peace, my nigga Big Aaron
Writer(s): Booker T. Jr. Jones, William Bell, Aubrey Drake Graham, Anthony Forte, Keenon Daquan Ray Jackson, Dijon Isaiah Mcfarlane<br>Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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