Lyrics

Song Name – Imaginary Playerz
Singer – Cardi B

Check out Imaginary Playerz Song Lyrics by Cardi B

Yeah
It’s the m*therf*ckin’ Brimcess, you heard?
The shit these bitches be braggin’ about is like
Shit I was doin’ in like 2016, type shit
Like (Why these b*tches hatin’?)
You b*tches don’t even know the difference between vintage and archive, like
(Why these b*tches hatin’?)
Yeah, look

Now I spit that other shit, pretty motherfucker shit
Cardi B, every song platinum, I’m not the other b*tch
Whatever you was gon’ pay hеr, you gotta double it
Gloryhole, b*tches don’t know who thеy f*ckin’ with
Their money my stocks and share money
Your booking fee is my makeup and hair money
B*tches say I think I’m the shit, and do (And do), and did
Just know you bitches can’t live
I got the hottest shit, hop out, poppin’ it
They say I walk around lookin’ like a compliment
Shut up, stop whinin’, Cardi still shinin’
Hoes kept complainin’, so I copped more diamonds
And more archive, vintage couture on me
I got more Gaultier than Jean probably
Summer with cheeks out, Winter, it’s minks out
I buy grown man watches and make ’em take links out, b*tch

(Why these b*tches hatin’?) I mean
It’s really easy for me to talk this shit, ’cause I live this shit (Why these b*tches hatin’?)
I just gotta make it rhyme

B*tches, I leave ’em all f*cked, fists be balled up
Y’all hoes look cheap, that shit don’t cost much
I’m a star, but I’ll smack you, don’t get starstruck
Patientce lookin’ at me like, “Cardi, what the f*ck?”
Striped like Thom Browne, these b*tches should calm down
Quicker they lift up, the quicker they fall down
Poor thing, Twitter must be gassin’ them heavy
Makin’ them jump in the ring with the Brim before they ready
I seen whole fan pages make avatar changes
All that old love go to new fan bases
Now your fifteen up, you already out of time
I’m a legend, they gon’ hang my heels from the power lines, haha

(Why these bitches hatin’?) All I’m sayin’ is
God forbid some shit happened to the Brim
Put my m*therf*ckin’ heels in Nelson Ave (Why these b*tches hatin’?)
Bronx legend, you heard?

My flop and your flop is not the same
If you did my numbers, y’all would pop champagne
If I did your numbers, I would hop out a plane
Suicide, if I fall from the distance ‘tween you and I
They gotta be kidding
Whatever they smokin’ on, it gotta be hitting
The bag you just posted been in the closet sittin’
The car he just got you bow-tied in a ribbon

Been in my driveway, not gettin’ driven
Y’all some bench bitches, ho, y’all just started startin’
Birthday at Carbone, to me, that’s Olive Garden
A nigga couldn’t take me there, that’s y’all department
Tasteless, huh, basic
I’m a Waldorf penthouse every state b*tch
2016, I had Fashion Nova lit
Ask Rich, y’all need your ass whipped

What the f*ck you mean this b*tch is out-dressin’ me? (Why these b*tches hatin’?)
How that b*tch outdressin’ me with my f*ckin’ vibe, bitch? (Why these b*tches hatin’?)
Duh, I dressed that b*tch, haha

Fixin’ y’all mouth to talk fashion with me
I’m the one who showed these girls what fashion could be
The first rap b*tch on the cover of Vogue
But somehow y’all passed me, I suppose?
I know your type, all bold and all cap
‘Fore the love of hip hop, y’all knew me before that
These b*tches is nuts, b*tches is ball sacks
And behind my back, b*tches be tight like bra straps, ayy