Do My...
Jay-Z, Memphis Bleek
Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer
Turn that motherfucker louder It's the Roc in this motherfucker (biatch), oh, yeah Bounce (uh-uh, yeah), bounce (uh, oh, yeah, uh-huh, yeah) Bounce (come on), oh (come on), yeah Bounce (yeah), bounce (come on) Now do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin' Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' Yo, I come through, few of my mans, scoop you and your friends You, you, and you with the Timbs In tight jeans, Chinese eyes, Indian hair Black girl ass, let me pour you a glass Of Belvi, tell me all about your past Let me console your soul while I palm your ass And your man did what? He ain't give you? He cheated with her? I can't diss duke I tell you this, though, get with this dude I'll teach you about dough, and show you what this do It's a secret society, all we ask is trust But I don't freeze wristses, I just skeeze bitches Break up happy homes, just seize missus You'll never get her back, once you get a yap How you love that? How you love that? Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin' Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' Ayo, Backwoods rollin', rap, you can't hold 'em Roc gear matchin', crusin' through Manhattan Bleek is chillin', Murda is chillin' What more can I say? We still killin' 'em Packs, we still dealin' 'em, four wheels, we wheelin' 'em Chicks like, "I'm feelin' him", yeah, ma, okay Black jeans and Timberlands give 'em adrenaline rush Ladies know the difference between them niggas and us We the R-O-C and we don't stop They don't make a gun that we don't pop Matter fact, they don't make a car that we don't drop Thought you knew, they don't make jewels that we don't cop What, you new? You actin' like the Roc ain't hot Or the car that I cop ain't missin' a top And even if they don't make drops that kind I tear the roof off like I'm Busta Rhymes, motherfucker Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, yeah) Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin' Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Uh-huh, okay, uh-huh) It's the R-O-C, we don't stop It's the R-O-C, we don't stop R-O-C, we don't stop Uh, Memph' Bleek, The Understanding, niggas Get your mind right, haha, haha (woo)
Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer
Written by: Shawn Carter, Shawn C Carter, Malik Deshawn Cox, Roy Hammond, Patrick Lawrence, Kirk Robinson
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC., Royalty Network, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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"Do My... Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/10454094/Jay-Z/Do+My...>.
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