Robb Bank$, Young Neil - BET Uncut (October) lyrics

Make up on the pillowcase
Hickeys on the neck
I told you not to leave it
I'm tryna keep us a secret
Not because you ain't good enough I
Love yo ass to death
Just I don't trust myself and
Girl you shouldn't really either but you, do
You stay around you got my back
I lay you down we right back at it
Fuckin like some addicts
Somehow shit just happens
And you light one up say
It enhance the passion
That's all you lookin for
Girl that's all you really need
Substituting passion with the feeling
When I'm in between we can't be
Not with the type of dream I'm tryna reach
Can't rap bout fuckin these hoes if
I got a girl at home (like Hov)
So I feel wrong when we
Back with each other under
Covers and I'm askin her all of a sudden
You can't take it yo heart breakin cause
You realize what the truth is
And I stop playin stupid shit
You really ain't that clueless
And these hoes tryna get to know a nigga
Bitch I'm more interested in what
You tryna show a nigga
I take the music and the fame
Look I really can't concern hoes
I'd die without my team
Rest in peace Joe Paterno

Bet I'm rollin she let me fuck
Bet me ten I leave with a dub
Bet I put my hands underneath
The soap suds in
The tub and I swere off after I fuck
She know that a real nigga know wassup
She want that BET Uncut
Play Boosie light candles and roll up
She want that BET uncut
Now pop that pussy for me (Like a stripper)
Just pop that pussy for me (Like a stripper)
Bitch pop that pussy for me (Like a stripper)

Bounce that ass one time for the savage
One Xan' and you can't stop laughin
Your dad would be mad if
I fogged out his maybach
So don't even ask what the fuck I been ashin
Im off krokodil and a sherm stick
Call Carmen for her connect's number
And this Cali bitch want me to fuck
Her like pics she reblog on tumblr
Got a free spirit trapped up in the hood
Got a grip up on that handle
Got a white girl that dance with white girls
Who keep my choppa in her satchel
Color coordinating my money into
Purple green and yellow
And she ain't a real hipster bitch if
Her hair ain't purple green or yellow
On my hip you see that magnum
The hips on that bitch like I
Took her out a Maxim
And that gold herringbone shine give
Her flashbacks of that Magnum
Hit my dope boy phone I
Send the telephone number
Took her on a trip to Guatemala just
To drive she copped a Hummer
Maxed out her daddy's black card
And this ain't jibberish on my freshjive
Hoodie, lil bitch
That’s my credit card number
Cracked the window so 'trol
Could smell the cigs
Smoke coulda bring pictures you
Paint to life, not even in chalkzone
Bitch I'm coppin paintings
From Takashi Murakami
While I'm taking Hollister off Holly
And poppin molly's with Molly
And I ain't gon apologize when I
Say you fuck niggas is sorry
I'm in a rocking chair
Waiting on my fuckin plug to call me
Or in a room at the Fontainebleau
Blowin' tree
Flippin a young blonde bitch's stomach
Call that Marley and Me