[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]