Turn that motherfucker louder,
she's the rock and the small fucker,
B .I .H.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce,
bounce, bounce, bounce
Now do my ladies run this motherfucker?
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Do my thugs run this motherfucker?
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Do my ladies run it,
that ass is a flat stomach
Throw a hand in the air if it's a year,
the woman on my dogs run it
Let em know that you still gun it,
throw a drink in the air
Let em know you still can 't
thuggin' new, few of my mans,
scoop you and your friends
You, you and you with the
Timbs and tight jeans
Chinese eyes,
Indian hair, black girl ass
Let me pour you a glass of
Belvie, tell me all about your past
Let me console your soul
while I palm your as s
And your man did what, he ain't give you
He cheated with her, I can't dis do
I tell you this, don't get with this dude I teach you about dope,
and show you what this do
It's a secret society, all we ask is trust
But I don't freeze wrists,
I just tease bitches
Break up happy homes, just seize misses
You never get a back, once you get a yap
How you love that?
How you love that?
Do my ladies run this motherfucker?
Yeah, yeah, on
Do my thugs run this motherfucker?
Yeah, yeah, come on
Do my ladies run it?
Fat asses and fat stomachs
Throw a hand in the air if it's the year
The woman on my door running
Let them know that you still gunning
Throw a drink in the air,
let them know you still thugging
And yo, backwoods rollin'
Rap, you can't hold em'
Rock gear matchin',
cruisin' through
Manhattan
Bleak is chillin', murder is chillin'
What more can I say?
We still killin' em'
Packs, we still dealin' em'
Four wheels, we wheelin' them
chicks like I'm feelin' them
Yeah, my, okay, black jeans and
Timbaland, give them 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 juice that we don't cop
But you knew,
you actin' like the rock ain't hot
Or the car that I cop ain't
missin' the top
And even if they don't make drops that kind
I tear the roof off like I'm
Busta
Rhymes
Do my ladies run this motherfucker,
yeah, yeah
Or do my thugs run this motherfucker,
yeah, yeah, yeah
Do my ladies run it, fat asses
and fat stomachs
Throw a hand in the air, if it's the air,
the woman on my door's running
Let em know that you still gunning, throw a drink in their hair,
let em know you still thuggin'
My ladies run, just mop up, okay
Or do my thugs run,
just mop up, okay
Mr.
R -O -C, we don't stop
Mr.
R -O -C, we don't stop
R -O -C, we don't stop
I'm at play,
you understand it, niggas
This is my ride, haha, haha
Thank you.
Memphis Bleek 
