Coast to coast, stash the gat in holster girl
Dark skinned, Christian Dior poster girl
Mo' rockin Timbs bitch and the Gucci loafers girl
Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty
Fuck y'all thought? Be dancin around in suits like I'm {Diddy}
Pretty, show niggaz 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 rappin chicks to mention Fox name
"What's Beef?" Beef is when bitches think it's sweet
See y'all frontin in the streets and let my gat meet ya
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Check, uhh
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 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
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
I dream filthy
My moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskey
Uhh, proper set off
Six sped off, gats let off, I speak calm
Gangsta, and pours off like Screechie Don, bwoy
Who y'all know rock Prada like Fox
Pop bottles in the back of the cellar with Donatella
Cartier wrist wear, Pasha Kay face
Got niggaz 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 have a gun in the 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 Blood'n or Crip'n
I'm still shittin, still lowridin and switch-hittin nigga
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
Oh yea, We coming for you
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 Mo' rockin Timbs bitch and the Gucci loafers girl Niggaz say I'm too pretty to spit rhymes this gritty Fuck y'all thought? Be dancin around in suits like I'm {Diddy} Pretty, show niggaz 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 rappin chicks to mention Fox name "What's Beef?" Beef is when bitches think it's sweet See y'all frontin in the streets and let my gat meet ya Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Check, uhh 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 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 Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you I dream filthy My moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskey Uhh, proper set off Six sped off, gats let off, I speak calm Gangsta, and pours off like Screechie Don, bwoy Who y'all know rock Prada like Fox Pop bottles in the back of the cellar with Donatella Cartier wrist wear, Pasha Kay face Got niggaz 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 have a gun in the 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 Blood'n or Crip'n I'm still shittin, still lowridin and switch-hittin nigga Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Oh yea, We coming for you Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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