Oh Yeah

[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 ninety-six
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, Chloe 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 Screechie 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