Only thing about hanging out with women, see,
we fickle. Women, we so fickle, we just have on‐‐
we have so many different personalities
and it's hard for all of them to mesh sometimes.
Ladies, you ever had that one girlfriend you go out with,
every time you hang out with her,
you already know there's gonna be some shit.
You already know at some point during the night
she gonna make you mad,
so you call her "this bitch."
Yeah, 'cause at some point during the night
you gonna be mad, you gonna be like, "This bitch."
First of all, this bitch ain't never ready.
I don't care what time you tell her you're gonna pick her up,
she ain't ready.
You sit outside the house for about ten minutes.
You don't want to blow the horn
'cause it's ignorant to blow a horn in a residential neighborhood.
So you just sit there and wait.
She keeps sending her baby to the door hollering out silly shit.
"My mamma says she'll be outside in ten minutes!"
That shit just make you mad.
You really wanna holler,
"Tell your mama to bring her ass out."
But you don't want to disrespect the baby.
Then you realize she don't respect her own baby.
Baby come back to the door.
"My mama says she rolling her blunt,
give her two more minutes!"
You be like, "Wow, wow, wow.
Told the baby that? Wow!"
Finally, here she comes.
She come out the house.
She got the biggest pocketbook she own.
She got a fried pork chop sandwich in her hand.
Now, you ain't mad 'cause she brought you one too.
She polishing her nails while she walk to the car.
This bitch get in the car, she got on all the perfume.
Not some of the perfume, she got on all the perfume.
She got on so much perfume
that her perfume bully your perfume.
Now you can't smell your shit no more.
Now you insecure.
You sitting there like,
"Damn, I should've put on a body splash or something."
Y'all get to the club,
this bitch party like it's her motherfucking birthday.
She on the dance floor every song.
This bitch party her ass off.
She didn't ask you to hold her pocketbook,
she left that bitch with you.
Now you in the club with a backpack.
Looking like the pocketbook bitch.
This bitch on the dance floor, she mixing drinks.
This bitch drinking CÎROC and Hennessy.
She call that "Going to Disney World". This bitch is turnt up.
You just watching this bitch. You can't believe it.
This bitch do the wobble dance for about 35 minutes.
Oh! Wobble, wobble. Wobble, wobble.
This bitch wobbling whether it's fast or slow.
Wobble, wobble. Wobble, wobble.
You're just watching this bitch. You can't believe it.
Finally, it's time to go.
She just sweated out a bang.
She can't find her jacket.
"Where's my jacket? Where's my jacket?"
Finally you help this bitch get all her shit together.
By the time you get her to the car,
fuck helping you drive home, she fall asleep.
Now you feel some type of way.
You driving, you like,
"Damn, I mean, it's basically like I'm chauffering this bitch."
But halfway on that drive home,
you realize that all that wobble,
mixed with that perfume,
mixed with that CÎROC,
mixed with that Hennessy,
mixed with that pork chop,
mixed with that blunt,
this bitch mustier than two orangutans with ski coats on.
You've got to roll the window down
so some air can circulate in the car.
Now since you've been driving with the window down,
by the time you drop her off home,
you get home, your hair all fucked up.
You and your man argue till four in the morning
'cause it look like you been out fucking around
from hanging out with this bitch.