French Montana ft. Juicy J - 50's & 100's Lyrics

Who run it? (South Bronx)
Who run it? (North Memphis, let me chirp these fools)
Who run it?

French got weed (hoe)
French got pills (hoe)
French got that work, on the corner cutting deals (hoe)
French know you haters out there talking ain't for real (hoe)
Never had a job, but we sitting on a mil' (hoe)
Bitch, I will not stop
From the back blocks
I'll get you whacked, topped
Watch, watch the ash drop
Drinking French vodka (vodka)
Riding with the blocka (blocka)
Wearin' three-quarter mink, 'chilla and Chewbacca ('Bacca)
I saw your main girl, and a player had to stop her (stop her)
Her name wasn't Silk, but her face was the shocker
Work, work, bust it down
Work, work, bust it down
Wrist, bust 'em down
Bad bitches, bust 'em down
Work, flush 'em down
Ain't nothing like a movie
Hit 'em on the chirp (chirp)
You know they gon' do it with the
Who run it?
Fifties, hundreds
Fifties, hundreds
For the ten, twenties, fifties

For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it

Gave a king charge to my kinfolk
He stood ten toes, for you, this intro
Fuck a bankroll, I need a bank full
My bitch on E, but my tank full
I fell in love with your BM in that Bimmer
I fell in love, Aston Martin, word to Gina
I can't see 'em
Slick Rick with the patch on
Gotta no cap the roof, got my cap on
Baby, I can't see 'em
That bitch a deuce, I can't see 'em
That Biggie, Juice, I can't see 'em
French the truth, I can't see 'em
That's word to Luke, I got the gasoline, I light a match on
Montana hop out with the blocka, blocka, blocka

Never send a boy to do a man's job
If it was me, I would've left him with a headshot
How the fuck you get your own mans robbed?
Before you see me again, you get that red dot
I will not stop, fuck the opp cops
And whoever fuck with 'em, we cannot rock
I will not stop, even if that block hotter
Than my mama be up in the kitchen with that Crock-Pot (whip it, whip it)
Yeah, mama kept me clean, now I'm filthy (I'm filthy)
Bank account say something silly (silly)
Ice on bright, we litty (we litty)
I'm a bad boy, P-Diddy

For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it (shut the fuck up)