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Foxy Brown F/ Baby, Loon, Noreaga, Young Gav Miscellaneous Stylin' (Remix) REEEEMMMIXXX!! [Baby] Boss, I see you there! I see you Mike! I see you Roy! Keep your hands up nigga keep fightin [Foxy Brown] Remix [Verse 1 - Baby] Mami, boss nigga, boss bitch Boss whips with boss chips Drive Escalade on boss blades Sitten on them twenty-tre's and thats on some stop and go's When I pull up the car stop the rims still flow's Picture me rollin like this Burberry, Gucci, interior so slick Me and Foxy with the matchip whips That Benz, that Bently, Lambourgini luxury shit I red carpet my bitch Bought her up to Jacob and laced my bitch I bought a 99 Hummer Fuck that I got 99 bundles Nigga life is a hustle Fuck that little daddy, life is a struggle! [Chorus] [Foxy:] Its necessary we styles in Burburry And our walk is mean in them Frankie B. jeans boy Its necessary we stays in Burburry And a Mark Jacob bag and a H-Tod shoe (Whoo) [Noreaga:] Its necessary we smoke the blueberry and we pop that Louie thirteen with our team boy Its necessary we rock the Sean John With a nice throwback and some Air Force Ones [Verse 2 - Noreaga] See, all that ain't nothin we at the bar frontin Its necessary I smokes that blueberry When I do white liquor I do it with cranberry Niggas fall off top and look at they fans worried But uhh, see I don't care bout nothin no more I used to act like I like you, I ain't frontin no more We used to lay up in the park, Dump buckets of raw Now I hope you die slow, plus a nigga thats poor See snakes I can't deal with Fools they can't build with Stupid, get shot in the foot and get and then killed in But still niggas doubt my name I move slow like Ozzy Osbourne with a cane Ghetto tabernacle, and still buckin at your adam's apple All I do is get high and drink Snapple (what?) I either coupe it or I lay in the truck Check SoundScan this time you stupid fucks [Chorus] [Verse 3 - Young Gav] Ay yo this party ain't poppin till I pop in Cause you niggas ain't poppin like I'm poppin That cris shit, that ain't nothin Ay yo try some of THIS shit now you frontin This bottle is worth green (What's that?) Louie the thirteenth (Got what?) Got it for thirteen Cam got the liquor store (Where's the weed) Rugs to get the raw (I know we in there free) My man bout to get the door Stand there zip ya jaw We gon' party tonight If push come to shove we catch a body tonight No gray goose get loose with bacardi tonight Just make sure everybody aight Check it out we got the bar over here The starts over here Niggas that push brand new cars every year Young Gav, world known from here to Rome Just call me the young Sean Combs, Homes [Chorus] [Verse 4 - Loon] We push Bentley Azure's, Rock Christian Dior velours, I'm not in the mood for Cris anymore, Bottles of ?, I sip and I pour, Chicks on the floor, They like Loon aint got hits anymore, Picture me for, Picture my wall, No extra plaque, Like beef no extra gat, If you need I'll molest a track, 50 g's nothin' less than that, Nigga please I'm the best at that, The rest you cats, Its best you rap, If its a need for you dress like that, I dont stress you cats, That made your doe of haze and hoes, Knowin' that I made my doe of shavin' o, Now I'm poolside, Bathin' robe, 2 Mayalasian hoes, All due to my lazy flow, Young boy got crazy doe, Blow crazy dro, But I'm just here to let the ladies know, Uh [Chorus] [Verse 5 - Foxy Brown] [Foxy Singing:] Ill Nana, Cash Money See I got that swagger back and I ain' knowin how to act Dunnie chill! I show you how to do this hunnie We our own twistin our hip Nautica blue bunny Now, brown Bently, we Brooklyn bound Bet when I come through your town I be burburried down Thats my word, y'all bitches got nerve Like my shows don't send these hoes straight to the stores, Now What the fuck y'all bitches screwin me for? I mean, why bother you only make my style harder I hit stunner like what up with the rucka what up? Bring your toys here show em that they boy here Catch me throwin somethin down from (?) In a Mark Jacob bag or little somethin from (?) Get em to daaance, bust a dance In your H-Tod bag and your Frankie B pants [Chorus] |
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