Oh Yeah By Foxy Brown Lyrics

Verse One]

I'm the most critically acclaimed, rap bitch in the game

Coast to coast, stash the gat in holster girl

Dark skinned, Christian Dior poster girl

Mo' rockin Timbs bitch and the Gucci loafers girl

Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty

Fuck y'all thought? Be dancin around in suits like I'm {Diddy}

Pretty, show niggaz how we run this city

Respect my name, Boogie nigga, stay in ya lane

Like The Hurricane, rains on bitches like Sugar Shane

And dare one of y'all rappin chicks to mention Fox name

"What's Beef?" Beef is when bitches think it's sweet

See y'all frontin in the streets and let my gat meet ya

1- Why Yoooooooo, Why yo yo yo

Why Yoooooooo, Why yagga ya yo

Why Yoooooooo, Why yo yo yo

Why Yoooooooo, Why yagga ya yo (yagga yo)

Check, uhh

It's like I'm in my own fuckin world, I speak how I feel

Sometimes I feel like I'm just too fuckin real

I love to stack riches, no disrespect y'all

I respect the rap game, but I don't fuck with rap bitches

I'm speakin from my heart

It's not that I'm too good, I'm just hood

Been like this from the fuckin startFoxy Brown feat. Dru Hill - Oh Yeah By Foxy Brown - http://motolyrics.com/foxy-brown-feat-dru-hill/oh-yeah-by-foxy-brown-lyrics.html

Since I bust my gun in ninety-six

Y'all never see me flick up with them fake-ass chicks

Bitches smile up in your face, turn around and pop shit

You a industry bitch, I'm a in the streets bitch

I might breeze through Prada, Chloe or Tiffs

But, other than that it's just me and my six

repeat 1

I dream filthy

My moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskey

Uhh, proper set off

Six sped off, gats let off, I speak calm

Gangsta, and pours off like Screechie Don, bwoy

Who y'all know rock Prada like Fox

Pop bottles in the back of the cellar with Donatella

Cartier wrist wear, Pasha Kay face

Got niggaz stand in line just to get a sneak taste

Act like y'all don't know I keeps gat beneath waist

And like a hundred thou' each crib in each safe

When Fox come through she have a gun in the place

I'm like Marion Jones, what, who the FLUCK wan' race?

Listen, never trippin, never catch Brown slippin

Fuck, y'all only nice around mics like Pippen

Shit, to all my thugs that's Blood'n or Crip'n

I'm still shittin, still lowridin and switch-hittin nigga