Azealia Banks Van Vogue Lyrics

1991 Track Listing
Digital Media 1
  • 1 1991
  • 2 Van Vogue
  • 3 212
  • 4 Liquorice
  • [Verse 1]
    Bang, pop, pop, this thing go pow
    Dolce crop top, my play clothes now
    Those Céline wedges are way downtown
    Best dressed up, better, you best dressed down
    Oh, it's me, fella, the banji gets out
    All females fledge to bambi style
    Light my wrist up, like zing-BLAOW
    Vamp me up, turn her down
    Amp me up, sugar, it's like mm-ow
    Got the good-good, the yum-yum, wow
    Oh, it's so supple—the ass so round
    Trust, there's no trouble, it can go down
    Bust your bitch bubble, where's my crown
    Banks, flame hot, Rapunxel style
    Bang, pop, pop, this thing go pow
    Bang, pop, pop, this thing go pow
    If she ain't know, the bitch know now
    It's the one, miss, the kunt is out
    Flip the scripts, so your bitch out styled
    Did that first, but your bitch so now
    Bang, pop, pop, this thing go pow
    Bang, pop, pop, this thing go pow
    If she ain't know, the bitch know now
    If she ain't know, the bitch know now

    [Hook 1]
    Boy (boy) don't fill yourself too much on her
    Boy (boy), your friends will laugh at you now, now, now

    [Verse 2]
    In that, you been did that, you been with that, you been-been that, bitch
    But they all forget you when I spin this shit
    Better dance for this and get your skin wet, bitch
    Its the Champ to sip, the cinnamon, young hip
    Making plans to get your little bammer's dick
    If she ain't legit you better send that witch
    If the mens is rich, you better spend that chip
    Better quit that envy, get that, get that benji
    Bitch, you know you never looking pretty princey
    Pretty princey, pretty pretty princey
    Bitches on the cover look at pretty AB
    Pretty AB, pretty pretty AB
    Damn, little bam, you could get it maybe
    But these bitches always fronting like they in the A-Z
    I'm just doing me but these bitches can't breathe

    [Hook 2]
    All them hoes, all them hater
    All them hoochies, all them players
    All them rolls and escalades
    All them roses, all them flavors

    Gonna sip that sip, and hit that dip
    Damn little bam, you a real bad bitch
    When I twist that hip, and lick that lip
    Damn, bet ya man wish you look like this
    The men that rich, the rich that rich
    Hands on the gram, better get that grip
    If you built like this, you built like this
    Dance with it, dance for me

    Oh, yo yo yo, these bottom ass bitches with these raggedy ass shoes
    I see you, bitch. With your Pell Grant refund, I see you coming out of NYU
    Spitting that refund check, getting fly rainbows and shit
    Tryna' come out of Forever 21 stunting on me
    Don't want to share none of your “whole foods” and shit
    I see you, motherfucker. Let me get some of that kombucha drink, bitch
    Let me get some...shit. I want some. I want some
    You stepped it up. You not in McDonalds, you in Chipotle—fuck outta here!
    Fuck outta here. So what, you know where the dumpling spot at. You still a hoodrat bitch
    And you tryna' stunt on me. Yeah, you out the hood. And yeah yeah yeah, so what
    You out the hood now, I feel you. I feel you
    They got government grants and shit like that that get you outta here
    “Equal opportunity education” programs and shit that got you outta these streets
    Now you up in there, you a freshman at UNCC, UNY, whatever, somewhere, studying some shit about political science
    And you tryna' do your shit on the side. And you downtown just closing. You all that. You having a good time
    But when I see you, bitch, just light me up
    You know it's me! Light me up. When I ask you, just light me up
    You know me. Don't front now. Don't front now
    Oh, yeah, “I don't smoke blunts no more. I don't smoke no blunts no more. Bamboo now.”
    You got on some white boys, I feel you! And now you don't wanna light me up when you see me come through
    We don't drink Henney no more? Oh, nah, you don't drink Henney, white wine. Wahahahah. White wine, bitch, okay

    Written by: Azealia Banks, Kevin James, Travis Stewart
    Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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