Lyrics of 'Enough/Better' by City Girls

Y'all hoes done fucked up
Bitch, don't make me put my wig in a rubber band (band)
Wait
Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit
I'm talkin' to you ho
Y'all hoes better tighten up

Enough is enough, bitch
City Girls with the fuck shit
Nah, don't blame it on you drunk bitch (nah)
See we cajole a ho
The whole clique gon' follow, ho (bitch)
Be at your door like dominoes
And your main nigga love me (haha)

Bruh been tryna fuck me
For the bread, walk him like a puppy (walk him)
It ain't no love for you both side playin' hoes
Play with your kids or the radio, bitch
Another comma, millionaire status
A cool one-twenty on the Patek
Dope bitch, magic
I live a pole bitch dreams (yeah)
Coco Chanel me, please

Y'all hoes too dangerous (dangerous)
In my comments, talkin' crazy (crazy)
But I can't make no bitch famous (nah)
City Girls ain't changing
But shit, how could you blame me? (Blame me)
Bein' me made me famous

Titties sittin', no sports bra (yeah)
Fuck a nigga in a sports car (skrrt)
Spike his drink at a sports bar
Y'all hoes make me sick
Always cuffin' tricks
Calling phones, talkin' slick
Lil' bitch, who taught you?
Mama should abort you
If you in my view, I would've pulled up and fought you (yeah)
But I'm way up (uh-huh), you bitches too low
New ass, new teeth, bitch, check out the glow (period)

Bitch, don't make me put my wig in a rubber band (band)
Slap a bitch down with the fuck shit (fuck shit) (Audio)
Y'all hoes better tighten up

Didn't think bitches like us could do better
From Dade County, straight to Coachella
My heart cold, better bring two sweaters
And your best bitch, we'll take whoever
Gutter bitch, gracing covers of the billboards

Locked up, nominated, BET awards
City Girls, talk our shit they scream
Real ass bitch, I ain't flexin' for streams
I'm fresh out, niggas comin' in varieties
I'm fightin' Glocks, fightin' demons and anxiety
I really used to sleep on palettes
Now I'm sittin' in the condo like it's a palace

Main bitch locked up, had to hold it down (down)
With a baby in my stomach at the Rolling Loud (facts)
Uh, kept you bitches out my game room (period)
'Cause y'all the same fake hoes from The Shade Room (Shade room)
I came from runnin' outta stores to awards shows (blessed)

Mama we made it, can't wait till you come home
Shoutout my (?), I was pregnant, I was seven months (damn)
Me and baby Summer too blessed up (blessed up)
Now everybody want a verse from us
All the trappers wanna go and cop a purse for us
Brought that bag to the hood when I touchdown (touchdown)
Did this shit for Dade County', yeah we up now

Miami, don't make me put this wig in a rubber band again (wig in a rubber band again)
Still the same, ain't changed, just changed where I live (changed where I live)