Oh Yeah - Foxy Brown & Spragga Benz (sped up) скачать в хорошем качестве

Oh Yeah - Foxy Brown & Spragga Benz (sped up)

#nightcore #nightcoremusic Lyrics: Stick it up, mister Hear what I'm saying, sir, yeah (Yeah, no, no, no, no, yeah) Get your hands in the air, sir (Woo, 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 (Yagga-yo) I'm the most critically acclaimed rap b*tch in the game Coast-to-coast, stash the gat in holster girl Dark-skinned Christian Dior poster girl I'm a rockin' Timbs b*tch and a Gucci loafer girl N*ggas say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty F*ck y'all thought? Be dancin' around in suits like I'm *****? Pretty, show n*ggas how we run this city Respect my name, Boogie, n*gga, stay in ya lane Like The Hurricane, rains on b*tches like Sugar Shane And dare one of y'all rap b*tches to mention Fox name What's beef? Beef is when b*tches think it's sweet See, I'm frontin' in the streets and let my gat leak Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo, check, uh) It's like I'm in my own f*ckin' world, I speak how I feel Sometimes I feel like I'm just too f*ckin' real I love to stack riches, no disrespect, y'all I respect the rap game, but I don't f*ck with rap b*tches I'm speakin' from my heart It's not that I'm too good, I'm just hood Been like this from the f*ckin' start Since I bust my gun in ninety-six Y'all ain't never see me flick up with them fake-a*s chicks B*tches smile up in your face, turn around and pop sh*t You a industry b*tch, I'm a in-the-streets b*tch 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 (Yagga-yo) I dream filthy My moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskey Uh, proper set off Six sped off, gats let off, I speak calm Gangsta and pose off like Screechie Dan, bwoy Who y'all know rock Prada like Fox? Pop bottles in the back of the cellar with Donatella? Cartier wrist wear, Pasha cage face Y'all n*ggas 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 ah go dun di place I'm like Marion Jones, what? Who the fluck wan' race? Listen, never trippin', never catch Brown slippin' F*ck, y'all only nice around mics like Pippen Sh*t, to all my thugs that's Bloodin' or Crippin' I'm still sh*ttin', still lowridin' and switch-hittin', n*gga Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-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 (Yagga-yo)