Oh Yeah

Lyrics

[Intro] Stick it up, mister Hear what I'm saying, sir, yeah (Yeah, no, no, no, no, yeah) Get your hands in the air, sir (Woo, yeah) [Chorus: Spragga Benz] Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo) [Verse 1: Foxy Brown] I'm the most critically acclaimed rap bitch in the game Coast-to-coast, stash the gat in holster girl Dark-skinned Christian Dior poster girl I'm a rockin' Timbs bitch and a Gucci loafer girl Niggas say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty Fuck y'all thought? Be dancin' around in suits like I'm *****? Pretty, show niggas how we run this city Respect my name, Boogie, nigga, stay in ya lane Like The Hurricane, rains on bitches like Sugar Shane And dare one of y'all rap bitches to mention Fox name What's beef? Beef is when bitches think it's sweet See, I'm frontin' in the streets and let my gat leak [Chorus: Spragga Benz] Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo, check, uh) [Verse 2: Foxy Brown] It's like I'm in my own fuckin' world, I speak how I feel Sometimes I feel like I'm just too fuckin' real I love to stack riches, no disrespect, y'all I respect the rap game, but I don't fuck with rap bitches I'm speakin' from my heart It's not that I'm too good, I'm just hood Been like this from the fuckin' start Since I bust my gun in '96 Y'all ain't never see me flick up with them fake-ass chicks Bitches smile up in your face, turn around and pop shit You a industry bitch, I'm a in-the-streets bitch I might breeze through Prada, Chloé, or Tiffs But, other than that, it's just me and my six [Chorus: Spragga Benz] Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo) [Verse 3: Foxy Brown] I dream filthy My moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskey Uh, proper set off Six sped off, gats let off, I speak calm Gangsta and "Pose Off," like Screechy Dan, bwoy Who y'all know rock Prada like Fox? Pop bottles in the back of the cellar with Donatella? Cartier wrist wear, Pasha cage face Y'all niggas stand in line just to get a sneak taste Act like y'all don't know I keeps gat beneath waist And like a hundred thou', each crib in each safe When Fox come through, she ah go dun' di place I'm like Marion Jones, what? Who the fluck wan' race? Listen, never trippin', never catch Brown slippin' Fuck, y'all only nice around mics like Pippen Shit, to all my thugs that's Bloodin' or Crippin' I'm still shittin', still lowridin', and switch-hittin', nigga [Chorus: Spragga Benz] Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo) Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo Why yo, why yo-yo-yo Why yo, why yagga-ya-yo (Yagga-yo) [Outro] Yeah Oh, yeah