Stretch Marks & Cigarette Burns (feat. Panchi, Imani Montana) - Blaq Poet, Panchi, Imani Montana

Woo-han

What

Who han, Woo han

What up niggas

It’s crazy

Yo Panchi

Call Sha

Call Premo

Tell them let’s meet in the club

Yo

I came in the club with a couple of goons

We was already drunk, now we’re smoking the

Little shorty on the stage, she was wilding, dancing

Whole motherfucking crowd screaming, chanting

«Move something, shake something

Break something, bitch»

I was like «Oh shit, what the fuck they’re saying?»

But shorty don’t care 'cause she had these niggas paying

Had them niggas laying out all their bread

Had them niggas standing on their motherfucking head

Had them niggas waiting on line for their turn

Niggas love stretch marks and cigarette burns

«Move something, shake something

Break something, bitch»

I was like, «Oh shit, what the fuck they’re saying?»

Stretch marks and cigarette burns

«Move something, shake something

Break something, bitch»

I was like

(«Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?»)

Stretch marks and cigarette burns

Yo this is for my bitches in the shelters who don’t need shelter

You’re just doing that shit for a crib

And all my bad little bitches, if your baby father hit you

Stick that ice cold knife in his ribs

And all my bitches pimp the system, tell your workers

Fuck that, you gon' have more kids

And you ain’t have them 'cause you need them, but now, you got to feed them

So you figure that your ass gonna strip

In the club setting, niggas dancing, bra sweating

As the bass booms, more sweat consumes

And you wonder how thousands can fit in a room

The speakers is bumping 'til it damn near pop

These hoes is dancing 'til they damn near drop

But I sit back and observe the whole scenery

And nonchalantly tell you what it mean to me

The filer says no boots and jeans

I’m in the back blowing trees, dipped in army fatigues

Little bitch on my back, when will I learn

Not to fuck with stretch marks and cigarette burns

(«Yo, what the fuck are they yelling?»)

Got love bitches, sliding down the pole bitches

Twelve to four bitches, don’t matter, you’re my bitches

Stretch marks and cigarette burns, alright, bitches

Can’t knock your grind, live your life, bitches

Get money, be the best at what you do

Cocksucker want to judge, tell them, motherfuck you

You done mastered the art of this seduction shit

See homie came tonight but hopes he can fuck your shit

nigga screaming we don’t love them hoes

Type to question why dance to her pole

But he fucking with but she buying him clothes

Telling ass nigga, G’s don’t take you on the road

In tune with the soul, can’t tell me nothing

Have a man lick it up, fronting

Who you think you fooling, look at you drooling

Love what’s she doing, what is she doing

Top on the pole, thick, legs in a split

Working her way down like she’s riding your dick

Now you want to lick every burn and stretch marks

What else can I say, we the best, ma