M.T.B.T.T.F. Lyrics – Clipse

Read the complete M.T.B.T.T.F. Lyrics by Clipse along with song credits, release information and other details about the song. If you enjoy Clipse’s music, you can also explore Let God Sort Em Out/Chandeliers and So Far Ahead, two other songs by Clipse.

[Verse 1: Pusha T]
No confessions, questions, we contesting
Fireworks’ll send a message, iridescent (‘Cause he’s hot)
Slow ’em down like Robitussin, if you rushing
At your door when we address ’em, we gon’ bless ’em (‘Cause he’s hot)
Tried to bring ’em, should’ve left ’em, learned my lesson
Poker faces keep ’em guessing, no expression (‘Cause he’s hot)
Ice dressing on my chesting, leave impression
What’s a Testarossa, if you don’t test ’em?
Ain’t your b!tch unless you joystick and dress ’em
My presence, your pleasure, peasants
He’s pressure (‘Cause he’s hot), I’ve been knee deep, key deep, we in Zeze’s

Me and Lee Lee get you fronted for the summer so easy (‘Cause he’s hot)
The snow alone fill up a mobile home
My n!gga’s name ring like mobile phones and no one’s home (‘Cause he’s hot)
White back-to-back Rolls at my gates
White slave masters souls in my safe (‘Cause he’s hot)
White python, Manolo is the taste
She want a Mike Tyson, blow to the face (‘Cause he’s hot)
Twist and turn, these guns blips and burn
Too many flip and turn, had to get rich to learn
Uh, the Bezos of the nasals, that’s case closed
Got a team full of J-Bo’s on eight toes (‘Cause he’s hot)
N!ggas measly, cheap as Riesling, believe me
I can tell ’cause your b!tches look needy

[Chorus: Pusha T]
She want Mike Tyson, blow to the face
Slalom height, she want snow on her plate (‘Cause he’s hot)
Half price when the blow’s in the crates
Means more ice for the Moëts and the Ace (‘Cause he’s hot)
Made a million off of flow to the nase
N!ggas saying that it won’t, just to phase (‘Cause he’s hot)
9/11, turbo with the glaze
Top dollars, poking holes in the case

[Verse 2: Malice]

All you keyboard killas in your feelings, mad you ain’t trending
Mad got you tricking on your women
Mad I don’t hit ’em, I just spend ’em
Gunning and I’m grinning in a Bugatti in my denim
This is the result of my vision, react with precision
But God only knows my intention
But selling dope is a religion, the hammer’s in position
I can show n!ggas the difference
You n!ggas is screenwriters, we green writers
Took chains and touched change like King Midas
Imitation is flattery, they seem like us
But only 300 bricks can make you Leonidas
My old plug asked the new plug to reunite us
D-class in my ears, now let me see you bite it
She want Mike Tyson, blow to the face
I’m talking ’96 HOV with the bass

[Chorus: Pusha T]
She want Mike Tyson, blow to the face
Slalom height, she want snow on her plate (‘Cause he’s hot)
Half price when the blow’s in the crates
Means more ice for the Moëts and the Ace (‘Cause he’s hot)
Made a million off of flow to the nase
N!ggas saying that it won’t, just to phase (‘Cause he’s hot)
9/11, turbo with the glaze
Top dollars, poking holes in the case