Foxy Brown (feat. Beanie Sigel, Memphis Bleek) "4-5-6"
[Beanie Sigel] Ughh, ughh, yeah This is Beanie Sigel That Philly cat who ain't with that silly rap Put your weight up, not your hate up, niggas Y'all know how I play quiet towns and tie 'em down Haters wonderin' how I got a position with Roc Cuz I listen to The LOX and I listen then watch While you still sittin' in spots, ditchin' the cops I'm in the Porsche Box with Fox, glistenin' watch War steel gray, Lexus, GS-4 Desert Eagle metal in the door, pedal to the floor I'm routin' down South, for my aim is to score Eight cylinder, screamin' 'Fuck the law!'
Got a tank full of gas, trunk full of cash Hammers in the stash, scanners in the dash Radar detectors, troopers can't find us We bubble down ATL and hit the 'Linas Then get clubbed with some Dirty South thugs Go all out thugs, go in your house thugs Talk shit, put blood in your mouth thugs 36 South stuck, stay on route thugs You know how Mac play, quiet town, tie it down I supply it now, by the pound Might front you a Q if you buy a pound If you didn't try it then, why would you try it now? Think cause Mac rap, I wouldn't fire a round into your crown I lay you down and retire you clown
And I clap niggas, nap niggas in the dirt Pat-pat with the deuce deuce, it'll work Bitch ass niggas wearin' thongs and skirts Catch 'em early in the mornin' while they goin' to work See you pretty motherfuckers stay stuck in the mirror And you weak ass niggas only bust out of fear I know y'all softer than them feathers that they stuff in a bear I pack two barettas, never bust in the air Twist your shit back, spit til my gat sits back Pack four pieces like a Kit Kat. Heh, get that? Cop Cris' by the six-pack, Range Rov?' Dot six that Benz Coupe, drop six that Buggy eye seven come out? Shit, took the six back Switch the Double R, the Double R's are, gotta get that You see how we play, pop Cris' on the E-Way Soakin' the seat, gettin' drunk with Bleek Or the Shark Bar, grilled salmon, poppin' Dom P While you chicken when you chasin' your high with hot tea Niggas flashin' back money like it's they money Slap 500 on back of a three-twenty I'm bringin' it to any nigga tryin' to shoot games (yeah) With them bullshit buggy-eyed kits and CDs
[Memphis Bleek] Check it out, yo, yo Well, I'm a lil' nigga don't speak, I tote heat Here to shut down your whole operation on the street Bleek, you know niggas just had to recruit this My flow drool out like a old nigga toothless Who would believe they pump Bleek with Ritalin Too hyped up, but weed calm my adrenaline Roll day on the strip, SK in the crib Hundred crack viles, playin' the Benj' Nickel nine gleam, like it's Armor All'd up My squad be armed up, gotcha niggas' arms up Who the fuck want what? Me and Bean's trumped up Witcha town under siege, Dillinger in the sleeve If my gun jam, you niggas'll squeeze on me You niggas them cats, that'll call D's on me I'm on on my off game, need a stadium for in stores Floss chains and I pimp whores, stay smoked out Shirt be poked out with the snub-nosed eight Six to jump out, you eat what you spit Motherfucker die clean For you actin' tough cats, but in your heart you serene I read your body languo You off balance and don't wanna mangle You want a challenge, get it brought to from every angle This shit'll slow 'em down, I bet that Your up front dough and your six, bet that motherfucker
[Foxy Brown] Sassy Fox some brick money, cop me a drop You know how I run it, 600, glassy top Rock the light gray wrist shit, flash them rocks The red, the yellow, the green, causin' traffic stops Bitch please, never freeze, gonna blast the glock Then I show a little cleave' and breeze past the cops You talk slick but suck dick for money in y'all hand I'm like, "Bitch, I got more money than your man" While you get your knees scraped up, cum all on your glands Shit, I'm in the V Twinz ballin' on you tramps Y'all hoes greasy, so I keep the bitch easy Rookie, fuck you know about glocks and pock' books? You know Na Na rock that shit, Pra-da that shit Es-ca that shit, Dolce Gabba that shit Hollow points, top that shit, fuck you tryin' to aim Pop that shit, yeah, nigga, Fox got that shit You see the ice wrist shit, can you cop that shit Chanel crocodile and ostrich shit, whoa! You know my style, I be spendin' they cash And I'll show their little dick some celebrity ass And get 'em a brick, I know what style to get them niggas shit real Well, fuck, I let 'em live and lick the tip of my shit To remind 'em of some rose petals, candles, and shit Or some hydro like the nigga grew a plant in my shit So that's what it is, that's why them hoes mad at my shit See my whilin' in the four-six, stylin' on they bum ass Goddess MC, y'all bitches is little Foxes I see my girls frontin', tossin' they little watches Cris? I pops it. Fuckin' a nigga topless Cats? I fouls on. Hoes? I styles on, nigga Wear y'all out then air y'all out Over here? Hustle from where, clear all out Shit, greyhound bitch, stay down bitch And y'all know Jigga sent me here to lay down shit I will spray y'all niggas, will waste y'all niggas Cause I fucked the nigga and paid y'all niggas Shit, what the fuck