M-Child - I Ain't No b**h, I Ain't No Hoe lyrics

If you don't back off, I'm k**ing myself. (x4) [M-Child] I think you pushed the wrong bu*ton, b**h I self destruct, f** the world, n***a talkin' sh** They call me the sh** starter of the f**ing clique I represent O.M., Orange Mound, b**h A bunch of hard-core motherf**ing lyricists Provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick And ride steamer, gettin' blown for the f** of it I'm lovin' it, tell a hater straight, "s** my dick." And giggle in your f**ing face, 'cause you lame, mane And ride through your f**ing hood and do the same thing I test nuts when I'm high off that green and gin And got some gold bra** knuckles that'll bruise a chin They call me the M-Child, psycho f**ing kid I'm splittin' weaves tryin' to get a motherf**ing gig The sh** I did or will do to a n***a Really gon' leave 'em scared Standin' in a puddle of piss runnin' down his leg [M-Child] [Chorus x2] (If you don't back off, I'm k**ing myself. [x4]) I ain't no b**h, I ain't no hoe I ain't no b**h, I ain't no hoe Player hater you gotta go Player hater you gotta go I'm all about makin scrilla' and cookin' that green dough [M-Child] I'm about stackin' grip I go to church 'cause I'm holy People ask me what the M. stands for, because they nosey I keep a lot of sh** to myself, keep n***as thinking What will he do next, when he high and when he drinking? Don't f** around n***a, don't f** around with me I snap, crackle, and pop, like f**ing Rice Crispies You think it's a game, a motherf**ing talk show? n***as laughin' like they ate a f**ing Tickle-Me-Elmo Get that grin up off you face Get up out your paper chase Make a b**h bounce that a** Make her buy you birthday cake It's a new millenium, 2000, I'm on the rise Better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries I can make a n***a hot, make 'em catch a bloody nose When I hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose Bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold Lock down, twist 'em up, and refuse to let 'em go [Chorus x2] [M-Child] You better hang on my nig', I'm gone, I'm in a zone Microphone be on, better leave me alone Straight hard-core sh**, I'm bringin' it to your home And to your tape ca**ette, CDs, or headphones Eliminations for sure, we be comin' in a pack Ready to attack, open up your back with a Gat Lock down, close shop, fill up every crack I ain't givin' a n***a sh**, not even a Scooby Snack Yo' hater you comin' back, why you tryin' to take mine I'ma turn into McGruff and take a bite out of crime f** 'em all, 'bout one phone call, it can be done Take 'em out, 'cause of low self-esteem, you on the run Never f**ing with your kind, 'cause your kind pullin' stunts I'ma beat your a** like you ate my Captain Crunch Drag 'em through the mud Shoot your a** like a punk You only came too deep We bigger then Brady Bunch, n***a