4-5-6 lyrics – foxy brown

[beanie seigel]
ughh, ughh, yeah
this is beanie seigel
that philly cat playin’ wit that silly rap
put your weight up, not your hate up, n*gg*s
y’all know how i play quiet towns and tie ’em down
haters wonderin’ how i got a position with rock
’cause i listen to the lox and i listen then watch
while you still sittin’ in spot, ditchin’ the cops
i’m in the porsche box with fox, glistenin’ watch
wore steel gray, lexus, gs-4
that’s an evil metal when the dog pedals to the floor
i’m routin’ down south, for my aim is to score
eight cylinder, screamin’ ‘f**k 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 sh*t, 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 cue if you buy a pound
if you didn’t try it then, why would you try it now?
then ’cause mac rat wouldn’t fire a round into your crown
i lay you down and retire you clown

and i clap n*gg*s, nat n*gg*s kid a dirt
pat-pat with the deuce deuce, it’ll work
b*tch *ss n*gg*s wearin’ thongs and skirts
catch ’em early in the mornin’ while they goin’ to work
hey you pretty motherf**kers stay stuck in the mirror
and you weak *ss n*gg*s only buss out the fear
i know y’all softer than them feathers that they stuf in the dear
i pack two barettas, never bust in their ear
twist your sh*t back, spit ’til my gats is 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? sh*t, 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 glee
or the sharp bar, grill simon, poppin’ dom p
why you chicken when you chasin’ your how with hot tea
n*gg*s flashin’ back money like it’s they money
slap 500 on back of a three-twenty
i’m bringin’ it to any n*gg* tryin’ to shoot games (yeah)
with them bullsh*t buggy-eyed kits and cds

[memphis bleek]
check it out, yo, yo
well, i’m a lil’ n*gg* don’t speak, i tote heat
here to shut down your whole operation on the street
bleek, you know n*gg*s just had to recruit this
my flow drewl out like a old n*gg* toothless
who would believe they pump bleek with ritilin

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 this armoral-ed up
my squad be armed up, gotcha n*gg*s’ arms up
who the f**k want what? me and bean’s trumped up
witcha town under seige, dillinger in the sleave
if my gun jam, you n*gg*s squeeze on me
you n*gg*s them cats got the code-d’s on me
i’m on to my off game, leave the stadium for in stores
floss chains and i pimp wh*r*s, stay smoked out
shirt be poked out with the slums knows eight
six to jump out, you eat what you spit
motherf**ker die clean
for you actin’ tought cats, but in your heart you scream
i read your body languo
you want violence and don’t wanna mingle
you want a challange get it brought to for every angle
this sh*t’ll slow ’em down, i bet that
ya up front dough and your six backed out, motherf**ker

[foxy brown]
s*ssy fox some brick money, cop me a drop
you know how i run it, 600, gl*ssy top
rock them light gray wrist sh*t, flash the rocks
the red, the yellow, the green, causin’ traffic stops
b*tch please, never freeze, gonna blast the glock
then i show a little cleave’ and breeze past the cops
you talk slick but suck d*ck for money in y’all hand
i’m like ‘b*tch, i got more money than your man’
while you get your knees scr*ped up, c*m all on your glands
sh*t, i’m in the v twinz ballin’ them tramps
y’all hoes greasy, so i keep b*tch easy
rookie, f**k you know about glocks and pock’ books?
you know na na rock that sh*t, parada that sh*t
and scotch that sh*t, dolce gabba that sh*t
hollow points, top that sh*t, f**k you tryin’ to aim
pop that sh*t, yeah, n*gg*, fox got that sh*t
you see the ice wrist sh*t, can you cop that sh*t
channel crocodile and ostrich sh*t, whoa
you know my style, i be spendin’ they cash
and i’ll show their little d*ck some celebrity *ss
and get ’em a brick, i know what style to get them n*gg*s sh*t real
well, f**k, i let ’em live and lick the tip of my sh*t
to remind ’em of some rose petals, candles, and sh*t
or some hydro like the n*gg* grew a plant in my sh*t
so that’s what it is, that’s why them hoes mad at my sh*t
see me wildin’ in the four-six, stylin’ on them b*m-*ss
goddess mc, y’all b*tches is littles foxes
see my girls’ friends, tossin’ they little watches
cris? i pops it. f**kin’ a n*gg* topless
cats? i fouls on. hoes? i styles on, n*gg*
wear y’all out then air y’all out
over here? hustle from where, clear all out
sh*t, greyhound b*tch, stay down b*tch
and i know jigga see me here to lay down sh*t
i will spray y’all n*gg*s, waste y’all n*gg*s
’cause i f**ked the n*gg* and pay y’all n*gg*s
sh*t, what the f**k

/ foxy brown lyrics