Oh Yeah (Album Version (Explicit)) Lyrics – Foxy Brown Featuring Spragga Benz

Oh Yeah (Album Version (Explicit)) Text

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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)

[Verse One]
I'm the most critically acclaimed, rap b**ch in the game
Coast to coast, stash the gat in holster girl
Dark skinned, Christian Dior poster girl
Mo' rockin Timbs b**ch and the Gucci loafers girl
Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty
f**k 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 b**ches like Sugar Shane
And dare one of y'all rappin chicks to mention Fox name
"What's Beef?" Beef is when b**ches 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)

[Verse Two]
Check, uhh
It's like I'm in my own f**kin world, I speak how I feel
Sometimes I feel like I'm just too f**kin real
I love to stack riches, no disrespect y'all
I respect the rap game, but I don't f**k with rap b**ches
I'm speakin from my heart
It's not that I'm too good, I'm just hood
Been like this from the f**kin start
Since I bust my gun in ninety-six
Y'all never see me flick up with them fake-ass chicks
b**ches smile up in your face, turn around and pop sh*t
You a industry b**ch, I'm a in the streets b**ch
I might breeze through Prada, Chloe or Tiffs
But, other than that it's just me and my six

repeat 1

[Verse Three]
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
f**k, y'all only nice around mics like Pippen
sh*t, to all my thugs that's Blood'n or Crip'n
I'm still sh*ttin, still lowridin and switch-hittin nigga

repeat 1 - 2X