[Verse 1]
Up in this crib
Treat me like the cunt I deserve
Get your hands off my hips
You ain't got the moves to compete with me, sis
You can't eat with me, sis
We ain't breakin' this bread
You ain't takin' this pic'
You ain't part of this script, you illiterate bitch
I'm biliterate, bitch
(Huh)

[Chorus]
(Ah-ha)
Get your hands off my hips
(Ah-ha)
Get-get-get your hands off my hips
(Ah-ha)
You illiterate bitch
(Ah-ha)
You can't eat with me, sis

[Post-Chorus]
I don't see that bitch
(Huh)
I don't see that bitch
(Ah-ha)
[Verse 2]
Fashion killer, Bugatti at the door
Assassinatin' on the runway floor
Lady Prissy, lookin' at you in Dior
Jet black weave from the stage to the car
Then I'll lead with the allurе of the star
Baddies, good face, givin' you good tastе
Dripped in fine lace, never to complain
If a bitch complains, that'll bein' a good thing
I'ma have to hurt a bitch's feet when it's lonely
Call 9-1-1, my time has come
Oh, nah, nah, nah, your time is done

[Bridge]
True to us, make you everything
Sexy, hell

[Chorus]
Get your hands off my hips
(Ah-ha)
Get-get-get your hands off my hips
(Ah-ha)
You illiterate bitch
(Ah-ha)
You can't eat with me, sis
[Post-Chorus]
I don't see that bitch
(Huh)
I don't see that bitch
(Ah-ha)
I don't see that bitch