[Intro: Rick Ross]
Yeah, pussies don't get pussy
Brooklyn

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Kinda short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil bitch
Be up in all them clubs spillin' Dom P and shit
Know the boy stunt, Jonathan Kelsey clutch
Yves Saint Laurent fonts on her bags to the pumps
D's love her aura, Balenciaga fedora
Lame n***as bore her, struttin' like she Kimora
She'll take a kilo and stuff it up in the Guuci
Brick of that raw, stash it between her coochie
N***as treat her like a O.G
First bitch in the hood with the Bentley Coupe GT
Brooklyn is the team, Alexander McQueen
Bustin' down a bird and balance it with a beam
5'5", slanted eyes, bitch walk is mean
Boucheron bracelets and Armani jeans
They're called skinny, my bitch is like a rasta with it
Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it

[Chorus: Foxy Brown]
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse
[Verse 2: Foxy Brown]
Ayo, Ross, tell ‘em bitches who the boss
The bloodclaat flyest rap bitch in New York
Y’all hoes better bow the fuck down and pay homage
I’m ten million sold and that’s SoundScan knowledge
And all y’all rap bitches sound garbage
While me and Ross, like the hood version Obamas
Boss keep me stylin’ from Giuseppe to my Blahniks
The .38 special in my Chanel stockings
Na Na got the Llama in the Hermes duffel
With the fly Silver-Fox, Kieselstein-Cord buckle
The Dries van Noten pumps, Nicholas Kirkwood platforms
So ladies raise your glass to this mad song

[Chorus: Foxy Brown]
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse

[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
Money ain't a thing, just look at my pinkie rings
So many numbers in the bank, shit could never be the same
Tom Ford Velours, my drawls by Michael Kors
And my watch a pretty penny, I'm talkin' hundred or more
My Patek Philippe, not for the cheap
And my money in the street way longer than my receipt
Dealin' with the money, no monie all in the middle
I'm dealin' with who owe me, opponents, they gettin' riddled
Box n***as up, on the ropes
Louis sneakers, Louis luggage, the colognes and soaks
Smellin' like money, my body tatted with hundreds
Oh-nine Bonnie & Clyde, gotta live with it like uh
[Chorus: Foxy Brown]
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse
Damn, bitch, n***as lovin’ me down
‘09 Bonnie and Clyde throwin’ it up, whoa
Murda murda, these bitches they never heard again
Gettin’ money, gettin’ furs, stash ‘em up in your purse

[Outro: Magazeen]
Bambaclot, Magazeen
Rise up di K from di gully side
Shoot informant, make him hold his side
Pussy violate, get mi pon his gully side
Murda, yellow tape, 5-0 ova side
Yeah, we haffi take 'way dey life
Gully side, rise up di K from di gully side
Shoot informant, make him hold his side
Pussy violate, get mi pon his gully side
Murda, yellow tape, 5-0 ova side
Magazeen (Magazeen)
See what we mean? (See what we mean?)
Foxy (Foxy) the Boss (The Boss)
In a difficult class (Different class)
Hear dat, Magazeen, dat a di wol a it