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    Memphis Bleek
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    Do My... (Explicit)

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    Song Info

    Do My... (Explicit)
    Released


      About "Do My... (Explicit)"

      Lyrics for Memphis Bleek - "Do My... (Explicit)"

      Turn that motherfucker louder
      It's the Roc in this motherfucker
      Bi-otch!
      Oh yeah, bounce, uh uhbounce
      Yeah, yeah bounce, come on
      Oh come on bounce, come on

      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're still gunnin'
      Throw a drink in the air
      Let 'em know you still thuggin'

      Yo I come through, few of my man's
      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 bitches
      Just skeeze bitches
      Break up happy homes
      Just seize misses
      You'll never get her back once you get a yacht
      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're still gunnin'
      Throw a drink in the air
      Let 'em know you still thuggin'

      Ay yo back woods rollin'
      Rap you can't hold 'em
      ROC gear matchin' crews
      Bleek is chillin', Murda is chillin'
      What more can I say?
      We still killin' em
      Bags we still dealin' em
      Four wheels, we wheelin' them
      Chicks like I'm feelin' him
      Yeah ma okay
      Black jeans and Timberlands
      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 jewels that we don't cop
      What you knew? 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 da 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)
      Come on, 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're still gunnin'
      Throw a drink in the air
      Let 'em know you still thuggin'

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

      It's the R-O-C, we don't stop
      It's the R-O-C, we don't stop
      It's the R-O-C, we don't stop
      Uh Memp Bleek, The Understanding niggas
      Get your mind right, ha-ha

      SONGWRITERS:
      COX, MALIK / CARTER, SHAWN / LAWRENCE, PATRICK AKA A KID CALLED ROOTS / ROBINSON, NATHANIEL / ROBINSON, KIRK
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