bitches ain’t shit lyrics – ben folds

b*tches ain’t sh*t
b*tches ain’t sh*t

b*tches ain’t sh*t but hos and tricks
lick on these nuts and suck the d*ck
just get the f*ck out after you’re done
and i hops in my ride to make a quick run
i used to know a b*tch named eric wright
we used to roll around and f*ck the hos at night
tighter than a motherf*cking gangsta beats
and we was ballin’ on the motherf*cking compton streets

peep that sh*t, got deep and it was on
number one song after number one song
long as my motherf*cking pockets was fat
i didn’t give a f*ck where the b*tch was at
but she was hanging with a white b*tch doing the sh*t she do
suckin’ on his d*ck just to get a buck or two
and the ends that she got meant nothing
and now she’s suing ’cause the sh*t she be doing ain’t sh*t

(b*tches can’t hang with the streets)
she found herself short
(now she’s takin’ me to court)
that’s real conversation for your *ss

i once had a b*tch named mandy may
i used to be up in them guts, like, every day
the p*ssy was the bomb, had a n*gg*r on sprung
i was in love like a motherf*cker lickin’ the proton
the homies used to tell me that she was no good
but i’m the maniac in black, mr. snoop eastwood
so i figure n*gg*r wouldn’t trip with mine
guess what, got gaffled by one time

i’m back in the motherf*cking county jail
six months on my chest, now it’s time to bail
i gets released on a hot, sunny day
my n*gg*r d.o.c. and my homey dr. dre
scooped in a coupe, snoop, we got the news
your girl was trickin’ while you was draped in the county blues
ain’t been out a second, and already i got to do
some motherf*cking chin checkin’

move up the block as we groove down the block
see my girl’s house, dre, p*ss the glock
kick in the door, and i look on the floor
it’s my little cousin daz, and he’s f*ckin’ my ho
i unc*cked my sh*t
i’m heartbroke, but i’m still locked
spoken: man, f*ck that b*tch

3, 4
b*tches ain’t sh*t but hos and tricks
lick on these nuts and suck the d*ck
gets the f*ck out after you’re done
and i hops in my ride to make a quick run
i used to know a b*tch named eric wright
we used to roll around and f*ck the hos at night
tighter than a motherf*cking gangsta beats
and we was ballin’ on the motherf*cking compton streets

peep that sh*t, got deep and it was on
number one song after number one song
long as my motherf*cking pockets was fat
i didn’t give a f*ck where the b*tch was at
but she was hanging with a white b*tch doing the sh*t she do
suckin’ on his d*ck just to get a buck or two
and the ends that she got meant nothing
and now she’s suing ’cause the sh*t she be doing ain’t sh*t

(b*tches can’t hang with the streets)
she found herself short
(now she’s takin’ me to court)
that’s some real conversation for your *ss

(b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets
b*tches can’t hang with the streets)

/ ben folds lyrics