Foxy Brown | Lyrics | Oh Yeah

Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo
Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo

I'm the most critically acclaimed, rap b**** in the game
Coast to coast, stash the get in holster girl
Dark skinned, Christian Dior poster girl
Mo' rockin' Timbs b**** and the Gucci loafer girl
Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty
F*** y'all thought? Be dancin' around in suits like I'm
Pretty, show niggaz how we run this city
Respect my name, Boogie nigga, stay in you lane

Like The Hurricane, rains on b****** like Sugar Shane
And dare one of y'all rappin' b****** to mention Fox name
"What's B***?", B*** is when b****** think it's sweet
See y'all frontin' in the streets and let my gat meet you

Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo
Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo

Check, it's like I'm in my own f*****' world, I speak how I feel
Sometimes I feel like I'm just too f*****' real
I love to stack riches, no disrespect y'all
I respect the rap game, but I don't f*** with rap b******
I'm speakin' from my heart, it's not that I'm too good
I'm just hood, been like this from the f*****' start
Since I bust my gun in ninety-six
Y'all never see me flick up with them fake-ass chicks

B****** smile up in your face, turn around and pop s***
You a industry b****, I'm a in the streets b****
I might breeze through Prada, Chloe or Tiffs
But, other than that it's just me and my six

Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo
Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo

I dream filthy, my moms and pops mixed it
With the Trini' rum and whiskey, 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 f*** wan' race?
Listen, never trippin', never catch Brown slippin'
F***, y'all only nice around mics like Pippen
S***, to all my thugs that's Blood'n or Crip'n
I'm still shittin', still lowridin' and switch-hittin' nigga

Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo
Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo

Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo
Why yo, why yo yo yo
Why yo, why yagga ya yo