Murda Mami

[Intro: Rick Ross] Yeah! Pussies don't get pussy Brooklyn (uh-huh) [Verse 1: Rick Ross] Kinda short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil' bitch Be up in all them clubs spillin Dom P and shit 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 niggas 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, niggas treat her like a O.G First bitch 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, bitch walk is mean Mahushi Ron bracelets and Armani jeans They're called skinny, my bitch is like a rasta with it Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it [Chorus: Foxy Brown] (x2) It's like damn, bitch niggas lovin me now '09 Bonnie & Clyde doin it now - whoa Murder murder, these bitches ain't never heard of Gettin money, gettin hurt up, impatient to leak them burners [Verse 2: Foxy Brown] Aiyyo Ross, send them bitches to the boss The blood claat flyest bad bitch in New York Y'all hoes better bow the fuck down and pay homage I'm ten million sold and that's SoundScan knowledge And all y'all rat bitches 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 glass 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, shit 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 niggas 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]