Foxy Brown - Murda Mami lyrics

[Intro: Rick Ross] Yeah! Pussies don't get p**y Brooklyn (uh-huh) [Verse 1: Rick Ross] Kinda short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil' b**h Be up in all them clubs spillin Dom P and sh** Know the boy stunt, Jonathan Kelsey clutch Yves Saint Laurent fronts on her bags to the pumps D's love her aura, Balenciago fedora Lame n***as bore her, struttin like she Kimora She'll take a kilo and stuff it up in the coochie Brick of that raw, stash it between her coochie (ha ha) Breeze through the hood, n***as treat her like a O.G First b**h in the hood with the Bentley Coupe GT (yes) Brooklyn is the team, Alexander McQueen Bustin down a bird and balance it with a beam 5'5", slanted eyes, b**h walk is mean Mahushi Ron bracelets and Armani jeans They're called skinny, my b**h is like a rasta with it Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it [Chorus: Foxy Brown] (x2) It's like damn, b**h n***as lovin me now '09 Bonnie & Clyde doin it now - whoa Murder murder, these b**hes ain't never heard of Gettin money, gettin hurt up, impatient to leak them burners [Verse 2: Foxy Brown] Aiyyo Ross, send them b**hes to the boss The blood claat flyest bad b**h in New York Y'all hoes better bow the f** down and pay homage I'm ten million sold and that's SoundScan knowledge And all y'all rat b**hes sound garbage While me and Ross like the hood version of bombings Bars keep me stylin from Giuseppe to Marblonyx The .38 special in my Chanel stockings Now that I got the llama and the Hermes duffel Word to fly silver Fox, keep you stompin, who above me? The dries, Stan Noten pumps, Nickelus Curt with platform So ladies raise your gla** to this mad song [Chorus] [Verse 3: Rick Ross] Money ain't a thing, just look at my pinkie rings So many numbers in the bank, sh** could never be the same Tall four Velours, withdrawals by Michael Kors And I watch a pretty penny I'm talkin hundred or more My critique for 'leet, not for the cheap And my money in the street way longer than my receipt Dealin with the money, no (Monie) all (In The Middle) I'm dealin with who owe me, opponents, they gettin riddled Box n***as up, on the ropes Louis sneakers, Louis luggage, the colognes and soaks Smellin like money, my body tatted with hundreds Oh-nine Bonnie & Clyde, gotta live with it like uh [Chorus] [Outro: Magazeen]