Fake Ass Bitches

Fake Ass Bitches Lyrics

*little kid* Tell me about these fake ass b**ches

[2Pac]
Look here little nigga
Most of these niggaz be b**ches too
but you'll never hear that side of the story
So uhh, we finna do this sh*t like this

It's like I tell my niggaz, keep your eyes on these b**ches
They love to G a nigga young dumb and gettin riches
What the f**k you think a trick is nigga
Nigga done stick and wet his dick
and then get tricked out all his riches by a -- b**ch!
I'm here to school you to the rules of the game, it'll cost ya
Think you alla that just cause she let a nigga toss her
It's like a motherf**kin priveledge
So don't give up your conversation, give that b**ch your 7 digits
When she call ya, ask that little tramp whassup
And if she hesitates nigga hang up, worrrd up
And let that b**ch meditate to the dial tone
And call me when you're ready to bone, and it's on
A motherf**king mack tonight
Stay that stay strapped cause my raps is tight
You f**kin punks, I hate you snitches
Went against the grain and the game to be fake ass b**ches

(God, damn! You can't just hit them niggaz with that game
and expect them to accept it; girl your heard me it gets skanless.
But we gonna kick this sh*t like this here)

Chorus: 2Pac

I can't stand fake ass b**ches
Lyin ass niggaz and you punk ass snitches
(repeat 2X)

Time to show these bustas who's boss
Run up on a real motherf**ker and get tossed
The game is deep, and thicker than a motherf**kin jimmy
Broke hoes runnin round yellin Gimme!
I can't stand it, hoes talkin bout they got a man
sh*t all I wanted her to do is suck my DICK
So how about hittin a motherf**ker on my pager
Busy now b**ch but you can give me the pussy later
Fly how I fade her, played her like a game of Sega
f**kin with the player that made her, huh
And I ain't sleepin caught you creepin for my money
Got the dick and now you get the pistol honey (b**ch)
So get the bozack, knockin hoes back, keep my dough stacked
So where the motherf**kin hoes at?
Punk niggaz can't fade the mack, livin fat
Gettin paid to rap, it's like that, you motherf**kin b**ches

Yeah, yeah that's my motto
She educated a whole bunch of you old raggedy-ass niggaz
So y'all take that sh*t back to y'all camp and uhh
you sleep on that there, it's like

Chorus 2X

Oh you too nigga, don't think we ain't talkin bout your punk ass
You old fake ass nigga
Standin there wearin all them Pendletons and khakis and all that
You soft as a motherf**kin grape
Ain't this a motherf**kin b**ch
I can see right through your flower ass
Some of these niggaz is b**ches too, man I tell ya
It's gonna be harder and harder to be a Thug in ninety-fo'
but we gonna do this sh*t
Y'all take this sh*t and you play this sh*t for every single
fake ass b**ch out there
And there's plenty of em
You probably got one sittin next to you right now
Bobbin his fake ass head to this, dope ass sh*t that he listenin to
Fake ass motherf**kin b**ch, die in ninety-four