Bobby and Whitney (Skit) – Song and Lyrics by 8Ball


Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Bobby and Whitney (Skit)’ by 8Ball. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 8Ball or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.

I know you hoes on a mission to steal my dick
But Pimp Chad ain’t goin’ for the Georgia, bitch (Georgia, bitch!)
It wasn’t nuttin’ when I saw ya bitch (saw ya bitch!)
She knew that I was on some millionaire shit
Everything I say is the truth (is the truth!)
I need five funky hoes for one prostitute
Just ’cause you sell pussy don’t make you certified
You ain’t in it to win it, I can see it in yo’ eyes
WWW dot, “Wonder why I’m quickly gettin’ exposed”
Breakin’ tricks for they money like a female is supposed (‘posed!)
I’m not in Neptune, on some Space Age shit
All my diamonds got paper, Emmitt keeping me legit (‘git!)
When the welfare was over, I be sellin’ cocaine (‘caine!)
I’m out in Las Vegas, takin’ over bitches’ brains (brains!)
Tony Snow don’t sniff no blow (sniff no blow!)
Pimp hard on a cracker but I love me a crow (love me a crow!)

I gotta big truck on some big rims
I get my dick sucked, when I pull out the Bent’
These hoes jockin’ me, they wanna ride with me
They gotta be down hoe! Like Bobby Brown and Whitney

Life is a game of inches
You move up little by little to the fame and riches
Life be a game and a broad of visions
Some niggas is hoes and all women ain’t bitches
And your reach? Keep the heat near
Games, I don’t play , I’m try’na make it clear
You don’t hear me nigga? Open up ya ears
If you movin’ too fast, slow down and switch gears
Create somethin’, ya life give ya nothin’
The streets ain’t pokin’, you can get shot bluffin’
Cash rule everything, keep that on ya brain
Get rich quick, let pimpin’ do the blame
Midnight blue with the peanut butter ducts
Chrome on my feet and bump in the trunk
Ball cap popped up, raised to the back
Kush in my realer, rollin’ big like Shaq

I’ma pimp, sellin’ hoes to a chick on the track
Make my money, bend her or over, slap the dick on the back
They call me Young (Jay!) G, I’m the man in charge
If you read this application, you’ll change ya job
I gotta order motherfuckin’ rappers, teachers, preachers, and athletes
All make a personal visit or to the back-streets
I even gotta hoe, play away
With one rule, till ya gray, nigga stay away
See I’m the reason why ya let’cha girl stay at the house
And beat her up ’cause my name couldn’t stay out her mouth
And I don’t need to know if she just wanna join the team
Get down and kiss all up on my ring
I keep a Cadillac and I select a few in my car
If you don’t own one, then you ain’t got shit in ya garage
I go hard, you motherfuckas ain’t breakin’ a hoe
You just flyin’ bitches in, showcasing a hoe