Memphis Bleek ft. JAY-Z - Do My Lyrics

Turn that motherfucker louder
It's the Roc in this motherfucker (biatch), oh, yeah
Bounce (uh-uh, yeah), bounce (uh, oh, yeah, uh-huh, yeah)
Bounce (come on), oh (come on), yeah
Bounce (yeah), bounce (come on)

Now do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on)
Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on)

Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs
Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman
Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin'
Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin'

Yo, I come through, few of my mans, scoop you and your friends
You, you, and you with the Timbs
In tight jeans, Chinese eyes, Indian hair
Black girl ass, let me pour you a glass
Of Belvi, tell me all about your past
Let me console your soul while I palm your ass
And your man did what? He ain't give you?
He cheated with her? I can't diss duke
I tell you this, though, get with this dude
I'll teach you about dough, and show you what this do
It's a secret society, all we ask is trust
But I don't freeze wristses, I just skeeze bitches
Break up happy homes, just seize missus
You'll never get her back, once you get a yap
How you love that?
How you love that?

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on)
Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on)

Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs
Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman
Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin'
Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin'

Ayo, Backwoods rollin', rap, you can't hold 'em
Roc gear matchin', crusin' through Manhattan
Bleek is chillin', Murda is chillin'
What more can I say? We still killin' 'em
Packs, we still dealin' 'em, four wheels, we wheelin' 'em
Chicks like, "I'm feelin' him", yeah, ma, okay
Black jeans and Timberlands give 'em adrenaline rush
Ladies know the difference between them niggas and us
We the R-O-C and we don't stop
They don't make a gun that we don't pop
Matter fact, they don't make a car that we don't drop
Thought you knew, they don't make jewels that we don't cop
What, you new? You actin' like the Roc ain't hot
Or the car that I cop ain't missin' a top
And even if they don't make drops that kind
I tear the roof off like I'm Busta Rhymes, motherfucker

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on)
Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, yeah)

Do my ladies run it? Fat asses and flat stomachs
Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman
Or my dogs run it? Let 'em know that you still gunnin'
Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin'

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay)
Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Uh-huh, okay, uh-huh)

It's the R-O-C, we don't stop
It's the R-O-C, we don't stop
R-O-C, we don't stop
Uh, Memph' Bleek, The Understanding, niggas
Get your mind right, haha, haha (woo)