Young M.A. - My Hitta Lyrics

Get the lyrics to the song: My Hitta by Young M.A. at LyricsKeeper.com.
My Hitta

My Hitta Lyrics |
---|
What Are The Lyrics For My Hitta By Young M.A.?
Yo, babe, you love me?
(Yes, I love you) You gon' ride for me? (Yes, baby) No matter what, right? (No matter what) You're my lil' hitter? (Ha, ha, why you always do that? Like) You not gon' be my hitta? (No) If I give you the, if I give you the Glock You gon' bust that shit? (Nah) Hello Let's go, baby, I fuckin' love you, baby, you heard? (I love you too) Aye, ooh, she spicy, yeah, I like her and she like me too I think I'ma drop a check on her like Nike shoe I usually don't trick but, shit, I got a trick for you I'm usually a ho, but girl, I got this dick for you And I don't have a boo 'cause I think I was meant for you And I just bought a Cooper coupe that's only meant for two My niggas in that foreign right behind me, aye And we fuckin' up the highway like a high-speed chase Blew 50 at the mall like it's my b-day But it's just a regular, ordinary weekday (regular) Ooh, that's a bad bitch You can tell she eat her collard greens and catfish I'm tryna make your daughter cry, sorry, Miss Jackson (I'm sorry) I wear that pussy on my face like it's in fashion Ooh, she said I'm nasty Baby, I just need a rider like a taxi (ride) And if your ex was a disease, then I'm the vaccine Blowin' bags, poppin' tags, we a tag team And we fuckin' up a foreign, going max speed Shoppin' bags tippin' over in the back seat Coffee on the seats, engine got that caffeine And you bitches couldn't have me, even if she didn't have me Aye, and I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta She the realest of the realest, man, I don't need my niggas I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta She the trillest of the trillest Aye, yeah, she my bottom bitch But when I need it, just like seasonin', she on top of shit Know how to treat her, she a keeper, man, that's common sense And yeah, she fine, I call her mine, it's an accomplishment She hot like Mexico, won't ever let her go (no) She my little lightnin' bug (that's right), man, I just let her glow And she get what she want (uh huh), can't ever tell her no She my lil' spoiled bitch, she got that oil drip She don't follow other rappers, that's that loyal shit Tell them niggas, "It's a wrap", like on some foil shit (it's a wrap) 'Cause this Glock will get to steamin', on some boil shit (glitt) 'Cause I'm a thug, she a thug, from the mud, out the soil, bitch Aye, and I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta She the realest of the realest, man, I don't need my niggas I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta She the trillest of the trillest, yeah Aye, aye I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta She the realest of the realest, man, I don't need my niggas I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta I don't need my niggas, 'cause my girlfriend is my hitta |
Who Wrote My Hitta By Young M.A.?
Andrew Joseph Jr. Gradwohl, Antwan Thompson, Katorah Marrero
|
More Lyrics
0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z
Lyrics Of The Day
- Saga: Wind Him Up Aldo's standing at his table…
- Madeline Merlo: Ready To Say Goodnight Eleven thirty, got my suitcase packed…
- Losing All Pride: Down This Road Down this road there's an old brick house…
- Bruce Arnold: I'll Remember April This lovely day will lengthen into evening…
- Brad Paisley: Dead Flowers Well when you're sitting there in your silk upholstered chair…