This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
Yeah, if ya want some put ya guns up it's on
Ladies know that when the sun's up I'm gone
Fuck them bitches though, digits though
Fuck, now if I bring it niggas know what
All black gat with the mack out
I take shorty to the rest blow her back out
Sun dress undress throw her back out
(Biatch)
In and out like a crack house, keep it moving
Face off with the 38 scraped off
Keep shorty maced can't throw a 4-4 eight ball
Know your place, so it starts when ya least expect
The yeast infect, you don't imitate bitches, piece protected
So I hear you hate bitches?
Love the dough, ya flow irritate niggas
Fuck them though, it's all out and have a fall out I fucked ya girl
On top now we call out fuck the world, face off!
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
I apologize ladies I'm loving' ya right
You must be used to me tricking' but we fucking' tonight
No wine, no dine, no wheelin' the whip
All night long just feelin' the dick be-i-itch
Sauce motherfuckin' slayin', I'm sayin' with no delayin'
Can you beat that? I eat that you just playin'
Nigga you never know what a chick could do
Pull the trigga too, check the shit jigga do
My crew mackin' the same bitch, I do
Back man stack grands daddy like I you
Love them hoes jigga? Ha, how that sound?
Women start to fall we all bat around
Let my whole team hit it scatter 'round
You never seen with it, pat 'em down check for cream in it
These riches got nothin' to do with these bitches
Nothin' y'all can do to stop these digits, face off!
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
Can I touch that? What's that? Leave it for dead
Keep ya arm over ya face, my nigga keep ya head
Keep a mind to survive if ya sleep ya dead
Stay fly till ya die nigga deep with prayer
With each word ya say I guess the beef is dead
Ladies and gentlemen like impeach the Prez
Val Kilmer style nigga draw heat with feds
Broad day like De Niro shoot all day
I'm the man fucking' the tracks and you just foreplay
Get a hit I, I come through, blow up, you spit out
What, keep it cocked faithfully like salop
With one in the drop don't get hit up
I be the 4-5th flamer, hoes bitch shamer
Clap cats a snitch she'll give ya whole click name up
Look I done came up and thought a whole game up
Meet me in the square with one in the chamber
The face off nigga
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out
Put ya guns up in the air if ya feel me, if ya feel
Fuck 'em all day fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes, yeah!
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Track master, track master, track master
The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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