| Song | Ain't 2 Be Played Wit |
| Artist | Mia X |
| Album | Unlady Like |
| 作词 : Mia X | |
| What, what, what, what, what, what, what | |
| Huh nigga, huh nigga what, huh nigga what what what what | |
| Huh nigga what, what huh nigga what | |
| [Verse 1] | |
| The crime started off, bloody | |
| It's about pistol whippins and kickins | |
| Mama dishin' and blitzin' (Mama Mia) | |
| Cause you hoes gon' listen | |
| Taught to issue the pain | |
| And distribute some cocaine | |
| Can you fuck man, nah nah | |
| I'm known for loosen' brains | |
| Bitch you think that I'm playin' | |
| Go to war by myself, grab that gat off the shelf | |
| Gon' say goodbye to your health | |
| Got heroin in the mail but bet my dollars don't fumble | |
| Stackin' tall like Mutombo, cause a bitch moving bundles, rumble | |
| It ain't no thang bitch I'm straight off the tank | |
| Niggas second in motion, I'm a fool with that shank | |
| No, I ain't 2 be trusted | |
| When I sneak I'm straight bustin' ya mouth | |
| And ya nose and your eyes gon' close, swole | |
| My kid sister Sherry puttin' big holes, in ya | |
| Po-po's trying to find the next nigga ya kin to | |
| Red dot center, bullets enter ya playa haters | |
| My lace tip split ya fuckin' decision maker | |
| Think you can take the biggest mama, bring the drama, go on | |
| But make it known, official it's on | |
| [Chorus] | |
| I ain't to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get | |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split | |
| I'm running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired | |
| So don't fight it baby close your eyes | |
| I ain't to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get | |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split | |
| I'm running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired | |
| So don't fight it baby close your eyes | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| When I hoo-ride (Tank Dogs) I only ride T-R-U | |
| Niggas out that booty or mister Corey Jalooty | |
| Shoot now, fuck the convo nigga ain't no stoppin' | |
| When it's on we poppin', street sweeper straight knockin' | |
| What, what cocaine and trains leavin' niggas in gutters | |
| Bringing pain to loved ones, burning up motherfuckers | |
| Plus if ya touch one of mine this is how it's gonna be | |
| I'm choppin' down your whole family tree | |
| Forget me not, it's too hot | |
| Up in that south, bitch you know how dirty | |
| Better act in a hurry or I'ma load it with thirty | |
| Dirty, serve me nigga by the pounds and kilos | |
| And watch the gumbo pot, we breed the fattest rocks | |
| Bag em' after the chop, push em' out the back door | |
| Have the prepiest hoes runnin' buku dough | |
| Yet the game is cold, raw dog to the bone | |
| Gotta love Jones, for whackin' chrome upside niggas domes | |
| If it's on then it's on ain't no need to delay it | |
| Bout it bout it motherfuckers no I ain't to be played wit' | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| [1: Mia X to fade] |
| zuò cí : Mia X | |
| What, what, what, what, what, what, what | |
| Huh nigga, huh nigga what, huh nigga what what what what | |
| Huh nigga what, what huh nigga what | |
| Verse 1 | |
| The crime started off, bloody | |
| It' s about pistol whippins and kickins | |
| Mama dishin' and blitzin' Mama Mia | |
| Cause you hoes gon' listen | |
| Taught to issue the pain | |
| And distribute some cocaine | |
| Can you fuck man, nah nah | |
| I' m known for loosen' brains | |
| Bitch you think that I' m playin' | |
| Go to war by myself, grab that gat off the shelf | |
| Gon' say goodbye to your health | |
| Got heroin in the mail but bet my dollars don' t fumble | |
| Stackin' tall like Mutombo, cause a bitch moving bundles, rumble | |
| It ain' t no thang bitch I' m straight off the tank | |
| Niggas second in motion, I' m a fool with that shank | |
| No, I ain' t 2 be trusted | |
| When I sneak I' m straight bustin' ya mouth | |
| And ya nose and your eyes gon' close, swole | |
| My kid sister Sherry puttin' big holes, in ya | |
| Popo' s trying to find the next nigga ya kin to | |
| Red dot center, bullets enter ya playa haters | |
| My lace tip split ya fuckin' decision maker | |
| Think you can take the biggest mama, bring the drama, go on | |
| But make it known, official it' s on | |
| Chorus | |
| I ain' t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get | |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split | |
| I' m running, humping your shit now rockabye you look tired | |
| So don' t fight it baby close your eyes | |
| I ain' t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get | |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split | |
| I' m running, humping your shit now rockabye you look tired | |
| So don' t fight it baby close your eyes | |
| Verse 2 | |
| When I hooride Tank Dogs I only ride TRU | |
| Niggas out that booty or mister Corey Jalooty | |
| Shoot now, fuck the convo nigga ain' t no stoppin' | |
| When it' s on we poppin', street sweeper straight knockin' | |
| What, what cocaine and trains leavin' niggas in gutters | |
| Bringing pain to loved ones, burning up motherfuckers | |
| Plus if ya touch one of mine this is how it' s gonna be | |
| I' m choppin' down your whole family tree | |
| Forget me not, it' s too hot | |
| Up in that south, bitch you know how dirty | |
| Better act in a hurry or I' ma load it with thirty | |
| Dirty, serve me nigga by the pounds and kilos | |
| And watch the gumbo pot, we breed the fattest rocks | |
| Bag em' after the chop, push em' out the back door | |
| Have the prepiest hoes runnin' buku dough | |
| Yet the game is cold, raw dog to the bone | |
| Gotta love Jones, for whackin' chrome upside niggas domes | |
| If it' s on then it' s on ain' t no need to delay it | |
| Bout it bout it motherfuckers no I ain' t to be played wit' | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| [1: Mia X to fade] |