Hold on, did you see the Farrah Abraham porno yet?
Yo, I'm glad that's not my girlfriend, man, I'll tell you that much
My smart bitch is my main hoe
My smart bitch is my main hoe
No more, no more
My smart bitch is my main hoe
No more, no more
Where those females at? The ones that never got below a B in class
Down to smoke some chronic, but she know she don't be needing that
Feeding facts, knitting, re-reading The Great Gatsby
Fights with Bill Simmons and differs with Bill Plaschke
Snacks be flax seed, almonds, and soy milk
But could dominate a Big Mac, no napkin, won't spill
Takes naps and chills, uses emojis and Nutella
Listens to good music, but didn't go to Coachella
No, nope, never got Talking Head tickets
Vinyl of Art Tatum, knows lyrics to Big K.R.I.T.
On some country shit, southern comfort shit, getting drunk and shit
Dancing on the tables, having fun and feeling wonderful
Don't want to be a player, she's requesting Big Punisher
Didn't wanna say it, but I think that I'm in love with her
Couple more sangrias and I'll want to put a son in her
Wolfgang Amadeus, better play it when I cum in her
Brain it be the greatest, though she doesn't play sports
When she picked her favorite player, she said it was Frank Gore
Bakes and makes sports, can play like eight chords
'Cause her parents made her take piano lessons until fourteen
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
She popping molly, just wants to party
Don't know that the shit's for the lost and gotti
Like Zach Denardi 'cause she likes attention
But I bet one day need an intervention
For the drugs and sex, girl's a mess
Better know when to slow, keep your hoes in check
Keep your head on your shoulders and don't forget
That sloppy bitches get no respect
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Boy, I can see it in your face
You're all over the place
Can you stand up straight for me, yeah
Getting back on track if you want me back
Do the sweet talk
Do the sweet talk
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Yo, I'm glad that's not my girlfriend, man, I'll tell you that much
My smart bitch is my main hoe
My smart bitch is my main hoe
No more, no more
My smart bitch is my main hoe
No more, no more
Where those females at? The ones that never got below a B in class
Down to smoke some chronic, but she know she don't be needing that
Feeding facts, knitting, re-reading The Great Gatsby
Fights with Bill Simmons and differs with Bill Plaschke
Snacks be flax seed, almonds, and soy milk
But could dominate a Big Mac, no napkin, won't spill
Takes naps and chills, uses emojis and Nutella
Listens to good music, but didn't go to Coachella
No, nope, never got Talking Head tickets
Vinyl of Art Tatum, knows lyrics to Big K.R.I.T.
On some country shit, southern comfort shit, getting drunk and shit
Dancing on the tables, having fun and feeling wonderful
Don't want to be a player, she's requesting Big Punisher
Didn't wanna say it, but I think that I'm in love with her
Couple more sangrias and I'll want to put a son in her
Wolfgang Amadeus, better play it when I cum in her
Brain it be the greatest, though she doesn't play sports
When she picked her favorite player, she said it was Frank Gore
Bakes and makes sports, can play like eight chords
'Cause her parents made her take piano lessons until fourteen
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
She popping molly, just wants to party
Don't know that the shit's for the lost and gotti
Like Zach Denardi 'cause she likes attention
But I bet one day need an intervention
For the drugs and sex, girl's a mess
Better know when to slow, keep your hoes in check
Keep your head on your shoulders and don't forget
That sloppy bitches get no respect
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Boy, I can see it in your face
You're all over the place
Can you stand up straight for me, yeah
Getting back on track if you want me back
Do the sweet talk
Do the sweet talk
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Now my smart bitch is my main hoe
'Cause them lame hoes, ain't feeling them no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
No more, no more, no more
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far
Why don't you know?
Take it slow
Work it hard
Take it far