YG - I GOT ISSUES

Baby Momma

I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma

Always got somethin' to say, every time she don't get her way
Your whole life I done paid, with me, you had better days
All them bags I brought you, it's a shame
How the fuck you find time to still complain?
Questionin' why I'm coming home late
Bitch, I put all the food on the plate

Yeah, she stay bitchin'
I'm like, "Shut the fuck up and clean the kitchen"
Love her from a distance
We talk crazy to each other, that's part of our relation
Tellin' your friends my business, you hella chatty
You let my daughter leave with her hair nappy
I still do everything to make you happy
You talk down on baby daddy

I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma

Always poppin' up with new friends
That's the type of shit I ain't in
Tellin' me how to spend my ends
But you tellin' me you want the new Benz
If I call you out your name, that's a sin
If you touch me, bitch, that's where it ends
I'm tellin' you we need a cleanse
I'm tellin' you but you don't comprehend

No good, burnt out from the hood
Moved you to the Valley like a real nigga should
My kids good, how they live, good
They don't eat pork, no pig, good
You supposed to be a nigga ribs
Can't no other nigga call dibs
If I'm payin' for the crib
Don't have another nigga 'round my kids

I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma (I hate my baby momma, I hate my)
I hate my baby momma

Always got something to say (always got something to say)
With me, you had better days (with me, you had better days)
Questionin' why I'm coming home late (questionin' why I'm coming home late)
Bitch, I, bitch, I put all the food on the plate (bitch, I put all the food on the plate)
I hate my baby momma

Credits
Writer(s): Keenon Daquan Ray Jackson, Randy Holmes, Lary James Sanders Ii
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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