Foxy Brown - 4-5-6 lyrics

rate me

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

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

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