No Bars Lyrics – City Girls, JT
(I got Brizzy on the beat, he go crazy)
(What up Noc)
What you workin’ with?
Yeah, what you workin’ with?
Uh, what you workin’ with?
Show a real *** what you workin’ with
Pay for this ***, *** (Yeah), get yo’ bands up
Oh, you ain’t trickin’, ***, I’ma hit yo’ mans up (The ***)
Cold ass cocky ***, fur in the summertime (Brr)
He gon’ keep the bills paid ’cause he know a *** fine
*** always in my business, JT, what you really do? (What?)
I be at home playin’ fetch by a swimmin’ pool (Bing)
I’m a real big dog, ***, you a scrappy-doo
Doin’ all that wifey *** knowin’ he don’t *** with you
Poster girl ***, in yo’ *** dreams
I’ma hold a semi, bust whoever in between (Bop)
Gangster ***, JT, Medellín
Haven’t heard from the opps, yeah, they ain’t said a thing (Shh)
I’ll be damned, ***, you know who I am, *** (Huh)
Long way from crackin’ cars and pullin’ scams, *** (Yeah)
*** on my ***, pretty like a transgender (Ow)
Sit this *** on his chin, in a chinchilla
Fifty flows up, can’t hop out my coupe unless I lift the doors up (Ayy)
Told my *** twin turbo, V8 the motor (Skrrt)
Self esteem drop every time I show up
Yeah, wrist doin’ eighty in a thirty-five (Ice, ayy)
Shut Marni down for some furry slides (Sloppy)
Look him in his eyes and tell him dirty lies (Huh)
Cop me Chanel, ***, thirty times
The price on this Kelly say I’m hella paid (Yeah)
Crocodile Birkin from the Everglades (Yeah)
And I ain’t gotta do a motherfuckin’ thing
I ain’t gotta do a motherfuckin’ thing, *** (Period)
Told y’all hoes I don’t work jobs
I am a motherfuckin’ job
*** always in my motherfuckin’ business
Worried about what the *** I got goin’ on ho
It’s City Girl *** (Ho)
Even when you think it ain’t City Girl ***
I’m a City Girl, ***
Second verse to you hatin’ ass hoes (Tired ass)
Who get mad every time I strike a pose (Damn)
I’m Rick’d down from my head to my toes (Yep)
Hood ***, dressed like a weirdo (Huh)
Run away, now I’m steppin’ in some runway
***, you can’t *** with my on yo’ birthday (Never)
Free my real ***, Corrlink and J-Pay (Free my ***)
You gon’ be home, *** what the judge say
I’m low-key, *** *** with my anxiety
I’m prayed up and I’m waitin’ on my rivalry
I’m the hype, nah, y’all ain’t gotta hype me
I’m that ***, give a *** who don’t like me
It’s grind time, no flossin’ (Let’s get it)
Pulled out the truck and put the Porsche in
These *** tired, they exhausted (Tired ass hoes)
Got *** tannin’ for this dark skin
***, I’m really from the trenches
Where it’s shots, I ain’t talkin’ ’bout syringes (Bop, bop, bow)
Yeah, I’m really from them trenches
Pretty ass lips make these *** cop syringes, mwah
No bars