Where The Haters At Lyrics - Case Dismissed - Young Buck

(Chorus: Young Buck) 

They was glad I was broke, mad cuz I'm rich 

So put that nigga out if it's a hater in this bitch (uh-oh!) 

Stuntin in the club, make 'em start a riot 

Throw my hood up then go take it outside 

(Repeat) 

(Verse 1: Young Buck) 

Why you hate me nigga? Yo baby momma love me 

She see me in the club, and runs up and hug me 

I show her no love, she keep on comin back 

Tellin me she got yo club, and where yo money at 

It must be my 'Lac, that's sittin on Pirellis 

The way I count stacks, that's got these niggas jealous 

See I'm hard on a hoe, I get down for mine 

You need a hand-out bitch, don't waste ya time 

If you don't work (you don't work), you don't eat (you don't eat) 

We go to jail, go to church, go to sleep 

I'm ridin' 'round wit Scrappy in the A wit my heat 

Tryna figure out how to get to Peachtree 

Come on nigga 

Related 

11 Delicious Misheard Lyrics About Food 

Love Stinks, So Here Are 15 Anti-Valentine's Day Songs 

Modern Love: The Best Top 40 Love Songs For Valentine's Day 

(Verse 2: Lil' Murder) 

Young nigga, but a certified playa 

But youse a bitch nigga, youse a bonafide hater 

They was glad I was broke, but now im livin major 

Hustlin and servin niggas like a waiter for the paper 

We ridin down the strip in sumthin so wet 

When ya bitch see a nigga, wanna suck a nigga dick 

Smokin' dro and drinkin' liquor till a nigga get sick 

Every city, every state, it's the same ol' shit 

Nigga money make the world go 'round so get ya hustle on 

These niggas snitchin' so much, I'm like "f**k a phone" 

Mad cuz im on, they love to see me down 

I know you gon' let me shine and get mine 

nigga 

(Chorus) 

Photos 

(Verse 3: All-Star) 

Look, hatin' aint healthy, nigga so keep it movin' 

These shots will wake ya whole hood up, I'm sleepin' through it 

Chea, I'm used to it, I done made a gun fire 

Pull the trigger one time, sound like a gun fight 

You was glad I was broke, now ya mad cuz ya hoe 

Love it when a nigga put it in the back of her throat 

Buck, Hi-C, Murder, and Star, we aint never scared 

I don't need my pistol in the club, I'll brawl there 

I know hustlers that do deal white 

Jump stupid, find out what these boots feel like 

Yea, yall know me, All-Star im so street (yea) 

What it is, what it aint, what it gon be 

(Verse 4: Hi-C) 

I don't bust my gun, like a halftime football game 

I aimed straight and I took yall name 

And ya whole click look all lame 

You can catch me in the house with a pyrex and it cook all caine 

Put that metal in ya mouth, you gon swear I was doctor walls 

Im in the club with my muthaf**kin' glock in drawers 

I had to let my nuts hang, so I dropped my balls 

You aint hit him wit no bullets nigga shot the walls 

You shoot to scare, I aim and kill 

When I dump on you, they gon think yo brain aint real 

Im heavyweight in the game, you featherweight 

When they hear a nigga take a loss, they wanna celebrate 

Bitch 

(Chorus)