Murda Mami lyrics

[Intro: Rick Ross & Foxy Brown]
Yeah
Uh
Pussies don't get pus*y
Ooh
Brooklyn
Uh-huh

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Kind of short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil' b*tch (Foxy)
Be up in all them clubs spillin' Dom P and sh*t
Know the boy stunt, Jonathan Kelsey clutch
Yves Saint Laurent fonts on her bags to the pumps
G's love her aura, Balenciaga fedora
Lame n*ggas bore her, struttin' like she Kimora
She'll take a kilo and stuff it up in the Gucci
Brick of that raw, stash it between her coochie
n*ggas treat her like an OG
First b*tch in the hood with the Bentley Coupe GT
Brooklyn is the team, Alexander McQueen
Bustin' down a bird and balance it with a beam
5'5", slanted eyes, b*tch walk is mean
Boucheron bracelets and Armani jeans
They're called skinny, my b*tch is like a rasta with it
Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it
[Chorus: Foxy Brown]
I said, damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus
Damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up, woah
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus

[Verse 2: Foxy Brown]
Ayo, Ross, tell them b*tches who the boss
The bloodclaat flyest rap b*tch in New York
Y'all hoes better bow the f*ck down and pay homage
I'm ten million sold and that's SoundScan knowledge
And all y'all rap b*tches sound garbage
And me and Ross like the hood version Obamas
Boss keep me stylin' from Giuseppe to my Blahniks
The .38 special in my Chanel stockings
Na Na got the llama in the Hermes duffel
With the fly silver fox Kieselstein-Cord buckle
The Dries van Noten pumps, Nicholas Kirkwood platforms
So ladies, raise your glass to this mad song

[Chorus: Foxy Brown & Rick Ross]
I said, damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus
Damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up (I love that, baby, don't stop)
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up, woah (You make me feel so good)
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of (I love that, yeah)
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus
[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
Money ain't a thing, just look at my pinkie rings
So many numbers in the bank, sh*t could never be the same
Tom Ford velours, my drawers by Michael Kors
And my watch a pretty penny, I'm talkin' hundred or more
My Patek Philippe 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*ggas up, on the ropes
Louis sneakers, Louis luggage, the colognes and soaps
Smellin' like money, my body tatted with hundreds
'09 Bonnie, Clyde, delivered it like I promised

[Chorus: Foxy Brown]
I said, damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus
Damn, b*tch, n*gga lovin' me up
'09 Bonnie and Clyde, throwin' it up, woah
Murder, murder, these b*tches, they never heard of
Gettin' money, gettin' further, to stashin' a bigger bonus

[Outro: Magazeen]
Bombaclaat
Magazeen
Rise up di K from di gully side
Shoot informant, make him hold his side
pus*y violate, get mi pon mi gully side
Murda, yellow tape, 5-0 ova side
Yeah, we haffi take 'way dey life
Gully side, rise up di K from di gully side
Shoot informant, yes, make him hold hi side
pus*y violate, get mi pon mi gully side
Murda, yellow tape, 5-0 ova side
Magazeen (Magazeen)
See what we mean? (See what we mean?)
Foxy (Foxy), the boss (The boss)
In a difficult class (Different class)
Hear dat, Magazeen, dat a di wol a it