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****in', ****in' |
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****in', ****in' |
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****in', ****in' |
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****in' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy |
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[Verse' 1 Lil' Kim] |
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Ms. White, that bitch with a thousand looks |
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Come through with a thousand crooks |
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I just know what it takes to get this money like Blow |
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Catch a body, get a face lift, disappear like Pablo |
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Ya'll niggas think I won't jump in the heap |
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Well let's dance, you lames are finished |
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I serve all ya'll cowards like a game of tennis |
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Act like you want some of this and I'll give you the business |
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You see the yellow and black, you know what it's about |
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Wrinkled assed niggas gets ironed, to straighten you out |
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I got thugs in the east, thugs in the south |
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That'll stick with the aisly and whip piss in your mouth |
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I kept 'em on a leash and now it's time to let 'em out |
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Better pray to Jehovah, the game is over |
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Don't ever, ever, ever, ever underestimate |
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Lil' Kim the postergirl at 718 |
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Ride outta town with my nigga, holdin' his weight |
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After it's cooked, chopped in eights the size of plates |
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You bitches ain't been through shit, you just minors |
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What you know about stuffin' half a bricks in your vagina |
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It's the dick licker, it's the baby sipper |
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Ain't a bitch alive can make a nigga cum quicker |
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Baby girl's pussy get wetter than a shower cap |
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Got my mans back like a Jansport napsack |
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And Queen Bee gon' bring you nothin' but heat |
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Homicide is lookin' for me for killin' these beats |
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You in the wrong department, this the upperclass section |
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You hoes is startin' to irritate me like a yeast infection |
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Good heavens, somebody get the Monostat 7 |
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And hit me why don'tcha, hit me why don'tcha |
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The boss lady, I hold it down for my badies |
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Rappers better run and hide 'cause here comes the Beehive |
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[Verse 2: Reeks] |
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It's your boy, Money Cash, I get love in the streets |
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Breathin' dro colored Benz's with dutch colored seats |
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Lay in the crib on Tuesdays, duckin' the sweep |
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Nigga jump off, then get pumped off your feet |
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I'm like Rostein, low key and brilliant with numbers |
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I'm tryna blow sticky in Brazil with the Hummer |
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If you spittin' and I'm grippin' this tech |
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Then that's 32 shots, our throwback's like Mitchell and Ness |
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Man, I'm a project nigga, still piss on the steps |
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And keep the brim on my fitted a little twist to the left |
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I play the block, fifth in my sweats, reppin' my set |
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It's Rossie from the pharmacy, get it correct |
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[Chorus: Lil' Kim] |
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[scratched] |
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The Beehive |
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****in', ****in' |
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****in' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy |
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****in' with the Tef-Teflon bitch |
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Beehive |
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****in' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy |
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Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out |
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The Beehive |
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[Verse 3: Bunky S.A.] |
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Yo, it's Bunky S to the A, and my guns ain't warm |
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Beatin' niggas close to death with my house slippers on |
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You ain't a thug cocksucka, you a coward to front |
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**** your project, your building got flowers in front |
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Every chick I roll with, OZ in the cunt |
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I was OT in Mass, pushin' flower for months |
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Sprinklin' gun powder, oughta put a haze on my blunt |
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I spit a hundred and fifty bars when I'm blazin' 'em out |
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'Cause I can do that with razor blades stuck in my mouth |
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Forget a hotel, I'm ****in' shorty right on the couch |
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Any rap shit I ever barked on, to hot to handle |
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And my rims bigger than lower Manhattan manholes |
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Listen up for 2003 tan rover |
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Stash box hold guns like Afgan soldiers |
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Wanna murda 16, well we the niggas you call |
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Queen Bee and Gotti Kids, mutha**** all ya'll |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 4: Vee] |
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Uh, yo Vee The Kid, that's the name I earned in the streets |
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'Cause my bars so hot, it be burnin' the beats |
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Melt my pen, I have slugs meltin' your chin |
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When I throw you over the bridge, they helpin' you swim |
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And you better wear a metal hat when you rappin' on stage |
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Or have my bullets like e-mail, packin' your waves |
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Or snatch your face off like I'm Nicolas Cage |
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And it could be five of ya'll, puttin' eight in your grave |
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'Cause niggas think they hard, but they softer than bread |
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When them shells hit your throat, you be coughin' up lead |
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The next step is to off you, dead |
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I'ma cut your ****in' head off and have Kim auction your head (Beehive) |
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See the kid don't rap for love, I rap for cheques |
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Even if I know you, I demand respect |
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And if I put you in the body bag, your man is next |
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The Advakid and Queen Bee gon' leave the game in a mess (Beehive) |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 5: Goldie] |
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It's young Goldie, the Advakid, put you to rest |
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I ride around with two 38's tucked in my sweats |
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A pump in trunk and a nine under the seat |
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Enough ammo to blow the earth from under your feet (Beehive) |
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And we got cake for killas like Hyde and Jeckyl |
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Snippers put red dots on your face like freckles |
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Don't make me have to reach for the lead |
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You'll think the bullets was rain drops how they all hit your head |
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I'm that slim kid that they say is probably hot |
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She only with me 'cause of what she think I probably got |
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Am I gon' be with her for long, probably not |
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Unless you're cute and suck a dick like a lollipop |
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Niggas talk about guns and they just bust caps |
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Niggas talk aboit ki's whey they just flip packs |
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When it come to my money, suggest you gimmie that |
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'Cause you know bullets fly in pairs like Petey Pab |
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(Beehive) |
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[Chorus] |
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Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out |
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The Beehive |
