You’re My Type lyrics

[Intro]
This one for my baller n*ggas (See, you're my type)
That hate when the weakest ho in the club try to approach him (That's what I like)
Some songs the ladies love me (See, you're my type)
The girls gon' hate me for this one (That's what I like)
But I got to do it, come on

[Chorus]
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh)
(That's what I like)
Don't get me wrong, you still gotta look cool to me (Light me up)
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Common production)
(That's what I like)

[Verse 1]
She asked, "Is that pronounced N-Y-C?", no, that's a niche
Rock Clavin Klein so she can see K (Uh)
I'm still doing one-twenty on the freeway (Tell 'em)
She still got a prom picture in her key-chain (Okay)
I told her, "Look, this ain't high school no more" (Ha, uh-uh)
And I'm tryna f*ck, we ain't cool no more (Nah)
Some n*ggas go bald just to perform (Uh)
Cause all these rats be talking up a storm (Jesus)
I know what they worn, I know what they be liking
If they hair short, said "They probably be dyking" (Haha)
Probably'll try it and probably like it
I can't know, what, he probably a psychic?
I know a crazy b*tch by the look in her eyes
I know a cheating b*tch gonna look at my guys
I know a fat b*tch gon' look at them fries
Tell me on the side like, "Can I supersize?"
Got my meat in the ride, go down while I drive
Some hoes ain't for show, you just keep 'em inside
Call 'em at 3AM and get deep up inside
Blow me and my homie, when you see me you don't know me
You heard? (Uh, uh)
[Chorus]
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Uh)
(That's what I like)
Don't get me wrong, you still gotta look cool to me (Come on)
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type?
(That's what I like)
You sing the song I made for ugly hoes and start approaching me
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type?
(That's what I like)
Don't get me wrong, you still gotta look cool to me
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Yo, I seen 'em, sh*t, woah)
(That's what I like)

[Verse 2]
She rock the jeans above the knees (Above the knees)
Oh, them must be some kid capris (Haha)
So I spend cheese, urge, b*tch, please (Please)
Your girlfriend ain't tell you 'bout me?
Kanye f*ck 'em and leave 'em, act like he don't need 'em
See titties and squeeze 'em, for no f*cking reason
"Ugh, he's so classless grabbing asses
How would you do a nerd b*tch with glasses"? (Bogus)
Pimp n*gga never spent no dough on a booty (Nah)
I wish I would take this fat hoe to the movies (Hell, nah)
Them n*ggas must not know the price of the coochie (Nah)
I'ma little too rich to f*ck this broke b*tch (That's right)
The survey says, "By the streets according
Kanye more important than Michael Jordan
Got this rap game locked, you could call the warden
Give hoes c*ck, then I'm gone by morning, I'm gone (Uh)
[Chorus]
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (That's right)
(That's what I like)
Don't get me wrong, you still gotta look cool to me (I said "Cool")
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Woo-hoo)
(That's what I like)
You sing the song I made for ugly hoes and start approaching me (I mean)
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (I told myself, I'm never nice, brother, if you steal my ass off me, uh)
(That's what I like)
Don't get me wrong, you still gotta look cool to me (I'm a j*rk?)
(See, you're my type)
b*tch, do I look like your type? (Look)
(That's what I like)

[Verse 3]
Damn, I was wrong
How could I stoop so low? (How could I stoop so low?)
Come on, pull up in a four door Volvo
Dropped the top and swooped your hoe (Woah, oh, no)
I don't want no wild body b*tch in my wild body six (Uh-uh)
No f*cking weak hoes in my f*cking Regal
No b*tch that's wack in my Cadillac
No b*tch with a fade in my Escalade (Haha)
No sl*ts with a gut in my Beamer truck (Uh)
No road daggers in my gold Jaguar (Uh)
Deep voice b*tches like "Da-huh-da-huh"
"I never thought Kanye would take it this far, uh, huh"
[Outro]
(See, you're my type)
Remember back in high school?
(That's what I like)
Like, prom queen, right?
(See, you're my type)
She was like thirty-seven-twenty-five-twenty-six
(That's what I like)
Now she thirty-seven with twenty-five kids
(See, you're my type)
You know what I'm saying?
Now she on the come up
(That's what I like)
Trying to get a baller n*gga
(See, you're my type)
b*tch heard my song on the radio
She heard me on that Jagged Edge sh*t
(That's what I like)
Memorized my cell phone number out the blue
Called me on some, "I wasn't sure if that was you or not"
b*tch, you ain't hear me say Kanye Titter at the beginning?
Gold-digging b*tch