Artist : Webbie f/ Trina
Title : Bad Bitch (Remix)

[Intro]
Come on... I need a bad bitch
Come on... if you a bad bitch
Yeah I want a bad bitch

[Verse 1]
The girl be, cookin and cleanin and cleanin and cookin
She be, constantly douchin and cleanin her pussy
And when she, step on the scene e'rybody be lookin
And to, get in them jeans everybody be wishin
But she, only want players who far from rookie
And if you, ain't got the cake you can't play with the nookie
Her titties, sittin pretty and she soft as a cushion
If you, try to holla she might holla she tooken
And she walk like a bad bitch, talk like a bad bitch
And goin get her hair and shit fixed is a habit
And a bad bitch go and buy fits mo' than average
And bad bitches get to take trips wit "The Savage"
Can never tell a bad bitch a freak, she too classy
But shit, I can tell from her lips that's she nasty
Expensive-ass pants is, gripped to them asses
She mean as a pitbull and sweet like candy

[Chorus]
Now that's a bad bitch (a bad bitch) [repeat 4X]
Girl you a bad bitch (a bad bitch) [repeat 4X]

[Trina]
Uhh, you want a bad bitch? Trina's the baddest
And I'm thick and fine from the cornbread and the cabbage, a savage
I would give you my number so you can have this
But I don't need the stalkin, prank calls or the madness
My ass like WHOA, my goodies incred-ible
I'm in this cheerleader skirt, and these legs flexible
You flippin and pushin and pushin to flip it
You can have an old lady, if I want you I ain't trippin
I got, my own money own cars own house
I can cook a meal same time and turn a nigga out
I'm the, example of what you want up on your team
But these Dior bags and my time gon' cost cream, uhh
Now I ain't gotta meet your momma, gimme dollars
Gimme Gucci, gimme Chanel, pearls and gimme Prada, uhh
A hood chick, I got yo' man, what a tragedy
He give me his paper to his plastic, I'm a bad bitch

[Chorus]

[Webbie]
Now make yourself seen, cause you a bad bitch (a bad bitch)
Girl you a bad bitch (a bad bitch), yeah you a bad bitch (a bad bitch)
Now show yo' ass off, cause you a bad bitch (a bad bitch)
Girl you a bad bitch (a bad bitch), yeah you a bad bitch (a bad bitch)
Man I love them bad bitches with them sexy-ass tattops
Them bad bitches with them bad bitches attitudes
She a damn fool, gotta crib she'll let me camp
Make sho' her niggaz stay filled with them food stamps
I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D E-N-T
do you know what that mean mayne
Own damn house flossed out big screen mayne
I'll bring the whole hundred shit what'chu gon' do for me mayne
Look at her own income, she a beast mayne
Bad bitches handle bid'ness first, then streets mayne
She ain't cryin over no nigga, she ain't weak mayne
The kind of bitch that put a real nigga on his feet mayne

[Chorus - repeat 2X]


Are you a Bad Bitch?

utter crap


rated accordingly

utter crap


rated accordingly

Seconded

Seconded

co-sign

OMG, I made it crap with my rating.

Are you a Bad Bitch?

no, but I generally find "songs" like that offensive

Her titties, sittin pretty and she soft as a cushion
If you, try to holla she might holla she tooken



:haha::haha:

That Is So Bad Its Untrue

OMG, I made it crap with my rating.

Are you sure? Im sure it went crap when I rated it too.

no, but I generally find "songs" like that offensive

why?

because its misogynistic rubbish by 'playas' who think they are dead ool cause they can rap (ahem) about how bad ass they are with their guns and drugs.

utter cack.

because I don't think it gives an empowering or positive message to young women

Because it's general "treat men like shit, spend all their money" bullshit that has no musical value whatsoever.

While We're At It, Why Not Get Some PROPER Lyrics Going Instead Of That Shit?

Artist: Saul Williams
Song: Telegram

I'm falling up flights of stairs, scraping myself from the sidewalk,
jumping from rivers to bridges, drowning in pure air.
Hip Hop is lying on the side of the road, half dead to itself.
Blood scrawled over its mangled flesh, like jazz, stuffed into an
oversized record bag.
Tuba lips swollen beyond recognition.
Diamond studded teeth strewn like rice at karma's wedding.
The ring bearer bore bad news.
Minister of information wrote the wrong proclamation.
Now everyone's singing the wrong song.
Dissonant chords find necks like nooses.
That nigga kicked the chair from under my feet.
Harlem shaking from a rope, but still on beat.
"Damn that loop is tight."
Nigga, found a way to sample the way the truth the light.
Can't wait to play myself at the party tonight.
Niggas are gonna die.
Cop car swerves to the side of the road.
Hip Hop takes its last breath.
The cop scrawls vernacular manslaughter onto a yellow
pad, then balls the paper into his hand, deciding he'd rather free-style.
"You have the right to remain silent."
You have the right to remain silent.
You have the right to remain silent.
And maybe you should have before your bullshit manifested.

These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out.
Niggas think I'm bugged out, 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out.
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that.
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black.
So where my aliens at?
Girl, we're all illegal.
This system ain't for us.
It's for rich people.
And you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money.
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry.

Telegram to Hip Hop:
Dear Hip Hop .(stop).
This shit has gone too far. (stop).
Please see that mixer and turntables are returned to Kool Herc. (stop).
The ghettos are dancing off beat. (stop).
The master of ceremonies have forgotten
that they were once slaves and have neglected
the occasion of this ceremony. (stop).
Perhaps we should not have encouraged them
to use cordless microphones, for they have
walked too far from the source and
are emitting a lesser frequency (stop).
Please inform all interested parties that
cash nor murder have been added to the list of elements. (stop).
We are discontinuing our current line
of braggadocio, in light of the current trend in "realness". (stop).
As an alternative, we will be
confiscating weed supplies and
replacing them with magic mushrooms, in hopes
of helping niggas see beyond their reality. (stop).
Give my regards to Brooklyn.

These thugs can't fuck with me, they're too thugged out.
Niggas think I'm bugged out, 'cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out.
This ain't hip hop no more, son, it's bigger than that.
This ain't ghetto no more, black, it's bigger than black.
So where my aliens at?
Girl, we're all illegal.
This system ain't for us.
It's for rich people.
And you ain't rich, dawg, you just got money.
But you can't buy shit to not get hungry.

You know, Im awful glad this is headed to the worthless crap pile..