Kid Ink – Lie To Kick It Ft. Bricc & Ty Dolla $ign Lyrics

(Verse 1 – Ty Dolla $ign)
You ain’t gotta lie to kick it
Nah you ain’t gotta lie to kick
In the club with a padded bra
Y’all some little titty lying bi**hes
Damn, hundred dollars on that green dot
Spraypainted on them Red Bottoms
Old ass Louis bag
That ain’t a purse, that’s a computer bag
Fraud bi**h with a fraud ni**a
In line for them Js at the mall ni**a
Riding round with no petrol
How you make that iPhone on Metro
Where you get a Louis belt made in Mexico?
Twitter hashtag, #Bi**hYouReallyBroke
Now all these bi**hes gotta book a nympho
Don’t act, don’t sing, don’t model

(Chorus – Ty Dolla $ign)
You ain’t gotta lie to kick it
Nah you ain’t gotta lie to kick it
You’s a real bi**h or real ni**a
Then you ain’t gotta lie to kick it
You ain’t gotta lie to kick it
Nah you ain’t gotta lie to kick it
Fake ni**as and fake bi**hes
Tell em you ain’t gotta lie to kick it

(Verse 2 – Kid Ink)
You ain’t gotta lie though
You know I got a thing for mulattos
Just follow the car with the Forgiatos
Bi**h I only give my number to the Lotto
I ain’t got no time for the model s**t
So promiscuous, Nelly Furtado
Just tryna have a little fun, don’t miss out
One more shot better bring the real bi**h out
I don’t really care about your history
Nah you ain’t gotta act like a mystery
I’m the real, tell a fake ni**a miss me
Burn rubber on them ni**as like Penske
Lying bout your life that I’m living, simply
Woke up in a dream with two bi**hes tryna pinch me
I just get between em like parenthesis
Put em out their misery, parental advisory
Ni**a please

(Repeat Chorus)

(Verse 3 – Bricc Baby Sh*tro)
You ain’t gotta like to kick it
Fake ass, fake titties, yeah I’m f**king with you
Oh you Beyoncé? Now you independent?
But you sold your food stamps for some Gucci slippers
B**ch stop lying, make your ass shake
If you a stripper, be a stripper for the bands sake
Now she running round town with my band, mane
Bandcamp, Bat Gang, yeah them bands straight
Boy you know you lying, you ain’t killed nobody
You rocking fake Trues, fake Gucci and Versace
Yeah you Lil Scrappy, you don’t want the problems
I’m a Crip, no father, we can get it popping

(Repeat Chorus)