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Correct Where The Haters At? Lyrics
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Young Buck
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Correct Where The Haters At?
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[Chorus: Young Buck] They was glad I was broke, mad cuz I'm rich So put that nigga out if it's a hater in this bitch (uh-oh!!) Stuntin in the club, make 'em start a riot Throw my hood up then go take it outside [Repeat] [Verse 1: Young Buck] Why you hate me nigga? Yo baby momma love me She see me in the club, and runs up and hug me I show her no love, she keep on comin back Tellin me she got yo club, and where yo money at It must be my 'Lac, that's sittin on Pirellis The way I count stacks, that's got these niggas jealous See I'm hard on a hoe, I get down for mine You need a hand-out bitch, don't waste ya time If you don't work (you don't work), you don't eat (you don't eat) We go to jail, go to church, go to sleep I'm ridin' 'round wit Scrappy in the A wit my heat Tryna figure out how to get to Peachtree Come on nigga [Verse 2: Lil' Murder] Young nigga, but a certified playa But youse a bitch nigga, youse a bonafide hater They was glad I was broke, but now I'm livin major Hustlin and servin niggas like a waiter for the paper We ridin down the strip in sumthin so wet When ya bitch see a nigga, wanna suck a nigga dick Smokin' dro and drinkin' liquor till a nigga get sick Every city, every state, it's the same ol' shit Nigga money make the world go 'round so get ya hustle on These niggas snitchin' so much, I'm like "fuck a phone" Mad cuz I'm on, they love to see me down I know you gon' let me shine and get mine Nigga [Chorus:] [Verse 3: All-Star] Look, hatin' aint healthy, nigga so keep it movin' These shots will wake ya whole hood up, I'm sleepin' through it Chea, I'm used to it, I done made a gun fire Pull the trigger one time, sound like a gun fight You was glad I was broke, now ya mad cuz ya hoe Love it when a nigga put it in the back of her throat Buck, Hi-C, Murder, and Star, we aint never scared I don't need my pistol in the club, I'll brawl there I know hustlers that do deal white Jump stupid, find out what these boots feel like Yea, yall know me, All-Star I'm so street (yea) What it is, what it aint, what it gon be [Verse 4: Hi-C] I don't bust my gun, like a halftime football game I aimed straight and I took yall name And ya whole click look all lame You can catch me in the house with a pyrex and it cook all caine Put that metal in ya mouth, you gon swear I was doctor walls I'm in the club with my muthafuckin' glock in drawers I had to let my nuts hang, so I dropped my balls You aint hit him wit no bullets nigga shot the walls You shoot to scare, I aim and kill When I dump on you, they gon think yo brain aint real I'm heavyweight in the game, you featherweight When they hear a nigga take a loss, they wanna celebrate Bitch [Chorus:]
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