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City Girls – Enough/Better Lyrics

Enough/Better By City Girls

Y’all hoes done fucked up
Bitch, don’t make me come out, wig in a rubber band (Band)
Wait
Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit
I’m talkin’ to you ho
Y’all hoes better turn up

Enough is enough, bitch
City Girls with the fuck shit
Nah, don’t blame it on you drunk bitch (Nah)
See we can wylin’, hoe
The whole clique gon’ follow hoe (Bitch)
Be at your door like dominoes
And your main nigga love me (Haha)
Bruh been tryna fuck me
For the bread, walk him like a puppy (Walk him)
It ain’t no love for you both side playin’ hoes
Play with your kids or the radio, bitch
Another comma, millionaire status
A cool one, twenty on the Patek
Dope bitch, magic
I live a poor bitch dreams (Yeah)
Coco Chanel me, please

Y’all hoes too dangerous (Dangerous)
In my comments, talkin’ crazy (Crazy)
But I can’t make no bitch famous (Nah)
City Girls ain’t changing
But shit, how could you blame me? (Blame me)
Bein’ me made me famous
Titties sittin’, no sports bra (Yeah)
Fuck a nigga in a sports car (Skrrt)
Spike his drink at a sports bar
Y’all hoes make me sick
Always cuffin’ tricks
Calling phones, talkin’ slick
Lil’ bitch, who taught you?
Mama should abort you
If you in my view, I would’ve pulled up and fought you
But I’m way up, you bitches too low
New ass, new teeth, bitch, check out the glow (Period)

Bitch, don’t make put my wig in a rubber band (Band)
Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit (Fuck shit)
Y’all hoes better turn up

Didn’t think bitches like us could do better
From Dade County, straight to Coachella
My heart cold, better bring two sweaters
And your best bitch, we’ll take whoever
Gutter bitch, grace the cover of the billboards
Locked up, nominated, BET awards
City Girls, talk that shit they scream
Real ass bitch, I ain’t flex for streams
I’m fresh out, niggas comin’ in varieties
I’m fightin’ loss, fightin’ demons and anxiety
I really used to sleep on palettes
Now I’m sittin’ in the condo like it’s a palace

Main bitch locked up, had to hold it down (Down)
With a baby in my stomach at the Rolling Loud (Facts)
Uh, kept you bitches out my game room (Period)
‘Cause y’all the same fake hoes from The Shade Room (Shade room)
I came from runnin’ outta stores to awards shows (Blessed)
Momma we made it, can’t wait ’til you come
Shoutout my [?], I was seven months (Damn)
Me and baby son was too blessed up (Blessed up)
Now everybody want a verse from us
All the trappers wanna go and cop a purse for us
Bought a bag to the hood when I touchdown (Touchdown)
Did this shit for Dade County’, yeah we up now

Miami, don’t make me put this wig in a rubber band again (Wig in a rubber band again)
Still the same, ain’t changed, just changed where I live (Changed where I live)