Bollywood Chick Lyrics - Tech N9ne

I gotta Bollywood Chick, she says she wants to know what Hollywood is, 

I gotta Bollywood chick, I love the way she makes her hips do a twist, 

yeah I gotta hip hop chick her favorite rappers Pac and Big, 

I gotta hip hop chick ask her who's better and she say they both the shit. 

She Sexy She Workin I'm a slum dog millionaire 

Thug livin', out of prison 

Pistols in the Air 

When the Remi's in the system 

Ain't no tellin if Nyce goin diss em, hit em that flip em 

Activate her mouth talking down about the pimpin 

Move to the next chick and continue my mission 

Money over bitches, money over snitches 

Money over this over that 

If you rather bring it back 

Shawty sayin Nyce gimme one more chance 

I'm like I'm not tryna be you man 

The things these fellas do for romance 

You can hate but you can't stop my swag 

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Hey Tecca Nina 

I gotta Bollywood dame ya 

Gotta have gouda moola queso gotta have change ta 

Get her to give you 

Poonana Nina gets brain cause my money game is insane 

I'm a hip hop hall of famer 

Nina gots grills so the bitches wanna know me 

Wrists don't chill lookin betta than your rollie 

Bollywood bitch want the Louis and the Chloe 

And thats what she'll get after she do me and blow me 

Black, white and Indian she'll take from any man 

But when we are finished she then begin to spend to get me in 

Cause my dicks a tight fit fight with the nice split Tech Nina 

I do that Bollywood chick likes this 

Photos 

I met this fly young hip chick 

Like pink lipstick 

She said I like a bad man I said come get me 

Known to ball 

I said I got it all 

More writing on my body than a bathroom stall 

Getting cash by the fist full 

Pinky and my wrist glow 

First I took her shopping and then to the disco 

Windy, Windy, grind on the stallian 

Double D Cup fuck with the champion 

Yes I am that dude 

I said when God made you he was in a good mood 

She said I can't be contolled only unleashed 

I said you came to the right place baby I'm a beast 

Hop into my wip cops pulled me over 

Don't worry bout a thing shorty Mad Child sober 

She listen to my music and she loves every verse 

Now she's my bottom bitch got my piece in her purse 

Ya she kept the trap shut when police went to work 

If anyone disrespect my boo they gettin murked 

She called me from the deli 

In LA on my cellai 

I'm flying in tommorow well I'm already ready 

The jewel on the third eye 

She jumped on the red eye 

We do the right thing my best friend like besta 

My little Indian queen 

The kind of glamour girl you can see in your dreams 

Moves like a gypsy 

Her groove got me tipsy 

Her nod of her hips 

Move a rod of concipse 

Very flexible studys the yoga 

Charming snake play with the cobra 

Can't slow down bangled tiger 

Jump a fever know why I like her