Bronx Season lyrics

[Intro]
Oh, how you doin'?
I'm alright
Hahaha
Man, turn this sh*t up, man
Ay, Cardi, you got something to say?
You got something to say, talk to ‘em
Cardi!

[Verse]
Now how much times do I gotta prove these n*ggas wrong?
And how much times I gotta show these b*tches I ain't soft?
How many shows I gotta sell out 'fore ya’ll get the cost?
Why they really tryna front like I ain't hit the charts?
All these labels, throwin' deals from left to right
But I ain't givin' in until they get them numbers right
All these people think that this sh*t happened overnight
All that flexin' they be doin', sh*t is all a hype
No tolerance for a hatin' b*tch talkin' sh*t
Only time I hold my tongue is when I'm suckin' di*k
So when I see you in the streets, yeah, it's f*ckin' lit
And don't be talkin' all that sorry sh*t, don't flip the script
I see the lights, I hear the hype, I hit the mic
I kill the show, I get my dough, I catch a flight
I see a hater, I'm runnin' down, it's on sight
I throw my hands, I hit em' left, I hit em' right
They sleepin' on me just because I used to strip
But it's all good 'cause now they wanna get up in my VIP
Blowin' up my phone, sayin' everythin' I touch is lit
Actin' corn and wanna f*ck me like they wasn't talkin' sh*t, whoa
I let 'em live, let the shady motherf*ckers live
Give them the price then it's time to show them what it is
Don't got the bat? Well then, what you really tryna pitch?
Don't waste my time, I ain't never been no average b*tch
Not to mention, I did my tour and that sh*t was winnin'
Independent, the headline, award of feelin'
I thank the Lord for every blessing that he has given
I love the fans, they fill me up with that ammunition
I don't really talk sh*t but now I gotta off this
I don't know why b*tches think we work in the same office
Corny b*tches tryna keep up? Look exhausted
Wave the white flag, girl, you might as well just forfeit
My ex told me I was never gon' be sh*t
Lookie, lookie now, lookie now, n*gga, I'm that b*tch
What you thought? Yeah, you really lost, now you kinda sick
But I ain't never need a n*gga, I was always on my sh*t, yeah
I used to stare at magazines on the train
Lookin' at these models like, "I gotta be this one day"
f*ck around, got myself a name, now I'm gettin' paid
Left the corny b*tches in the grave, so they throwin' shade
[Outro]
Oh my gawd, oh my gawd
I don’t know why I gotta prove myself to people that—
That I’m deadass with this sh*t, like—
What the f*ck, do I gotta sell my soul or something?
Do I gotta sell my pus*y or something?
Like, I’m deadass, I’m so tired of ya’ll, my gawd
Oh hey!