| Song | 4-5-6 |
| Artist | Foxy Brown |
| Artist | Beanie Sigel |
| Artist | Memphis Bleek |
| Album | Chyna Doll |
| Ughh, ughh, yeah | |
| This is beanie seigel | |
| That philly cat playin' wit that silly rap | |
| Put your weight up, not your hate up, niggas | |
| Y'all know how i play quiet towns and tie 'em down | |
| Haters wonderin' how i got a position with rock | |
| Cuz i listen to the lox and i listen then watch | |
| While you still sittin' in spot, ditchin' the cops | |
| I'm in the porsche box with fox, glistenin' watch | |
| Wore steel gray, lexus, gs-4 | |
| That's an evil metal when the dog pedals to the floor | |
| I'm routin' down south, for my aim is to score | |
| Eight cylinder, screamin' '**** the law!' | |
| Got a tank full of gas, trunk full of cash | |
| Hammers in the stash, scanners in the dash | |
| Radar detectors, troopers can't find us | |
| We bubble down atl and hit the 'linas | |
| Then get clubbed with some dirty south thugs | |
| Go all out thugs, go in your house thugs | |
| Talk shit, put blood in your mouth thugs | |
| 36 south stuck, stay on route thugs | |
| You know how mac play, quiet town, tie it down | |
| I supply it now, by the pound | |
| Might front you a cue if you buy a pound | |
| If you didn't try it then, why would you try it now? | |
| Then cuz mac rat wouldn't fire a round into your crown | |
| I lay you down and retire you clown | |
| And i clap niggas, nat niggas kid a dirt | |
| Pat-pat with the deuce deuce, it'll work | |
| Bitch ass niggas wearin' thongs and skirts | |
| Catch 'em early in the mornin' while they goin' to work | |
| Hey you pretty mother****ers stay stuck in the mirror | |
| And you weak ass niggas only buss out the fear | |
| I know y'all softer than them feathers that they stuf in the dear | |
| I pack two barettas, never bust in their ear | |
| Twist your shit back, spit 'til my gats is back | |
| Pack four pieces like a kit kat. heh, get that? | |
| Cop cris' by the six-pack, range rov?' dot six that | |
| Benz coupe, drop six that | |
| Buggy eye seven come out? shit, took the six back | |
| Switch the double r, the double r's are, gotta get that | |
| You see how we play, pop cris' on the e-way | |
| Soakin' the seat, gettin' drunk with glee | |
| Or the sharp bar, grill simon, poppin' dom p | |
| Why you chicken when you chasin' your how with hot tea | |
| Niggas flashin' back money like it's they money | |
| Slap 500 on back of a three-twenty | |
| I'm bringin' it to any nigga tryin' to shoot games (yeah) | |
| With them bullshit buggy-eyed kits and cds | |
| [memphis bleek] | |
| Check it out, yo, yo | |
| Well, i'm a lil' nigga don't speak, i tote heat | |
| Here to shut down your whole operation on the street | |
| Bleek, you know niggas just had to recruit this | |
| My flow drewl out like a old nigga toothless | |
| Who would believe they pump bleek with ritilin | |
| Too hyped up, but weed calm my adrenaline | |
| Roll day on the strip, sk in the crib | |
| Hundred crack viles, playin' the benj' | |
| Nickel nine gleam, like this armoral-ed up | |
| My squad be armed up, gotcha niggas' arms up | |
| Who the **** want what? me and bean's trumped up | |
| Witcha town under seige, dillinger in the sleave | |
| If my gun jam, you niggas squeeze on me | |
| You niggas them cats got the code-d's on me | |
| I'm on to my off game, leave the stadium for in stores | |
| Floss chains and i pimp whores, stay smoked out | |
| Shirt be poked out with the slums knows eight | |
| Six to jump out, you eat what you spit | |
| Mother****er die clean | |
| For you actin' tought cats, but in your heart you scream | |
| I read your body languo | |
| You want violence and don't wanna mingle | |
| You want a challange get it brought to for every angle | |
| This shit'll slow 'em down, i bet that | |
| Ya up front dough and your six backed out, mother****er | |
| [foxy brown] | |
| Sassy fox some brick money, cop me a drop | |
| You know how i run it, 600, glassy top | |
| Rock them light gray wrist shit, flash the rocks | |
| The red, the yellow, the green, causin' traffic stops | |
| Bitch please, never freeze, gonna blast the glock | |
| Then i show a little cleave' and breeze past the cops | |
| You talk slick but suck dick for money in y'all hand | |
| I'm like 'bitch, i got more money than your man' | |
| While you get your knees scraped up, cum all on your glands | |
| Shit, i'm in the v twinz ballin' them tramps | |
| Y'all hoes greasy, so i keep bitch easy | |
| Rookie, **** you know about glocks and pock' books? | |
| You know na na rock that shit, parada that shit | |
| And scotch that shit, dolce gabba that shit | |
| Hollow points, top that shit, **** you tryin' to aim | |
| Pop that shit, yeah, nigga, fox got that shit | |
| You see the ice wrist shit, can you cop that shit | |
| Channel crocodile and ostrich shit, whoa | |
| You know my style, i be spendin' they cash | |
| And i'll show their little dick some celebrity ass | |
| And get 'em a brick, i know what style to get them niggas shit real | |
| Well, ****, i let 'em live and lick the tip of my shit | |
| To remind 'em of some rose petals, candles, and shit | |
| Or some hydro like the nigga grew a plant in my shit | |
| So that's what it is, that's why them hoes mad at my shit | |
| See me wildin' in the four-six, stylin' on them bum-ass | |
| Goddess mc, y'all bitches is littles foxes | |
| See my girls' friends, tossin' they little watches | |
| Cris? i pops it. ****in' a nigga topless | |
| Cats? i fouls on. hoes? i styles on, nigga | |
| Wear y'all out then air y'all out | |
| Over here? hustle from where, clear all out | |
| Shit, greyhound bitch, stay down bitch | |
| And i know jigga see me here to lay down shit | |
| I will spray y'all niggas, waste y'all niggas | |
| Cuz i ****ed the nigga and pay y'all niggas | |
| Shit, what the **** |
| Ughh, ughh, yeah | |
| This is beanie seigel | |
| That philly cat playin' wit that silly rap | |
| Put your weight up, not your hate up, niggas | |
| Y' all know how i play quiet towns and tie ' em down | |
| Haters wonderin' how i got a position with rock | |
| Cuz i listen to the lox and i listen then watch | |
| While you still sittin' in spot, ditchin' the cops | |
| I' m in the porsche box with fox, glistenin' watch | |
| Wore steel gray, lexus, gs4 | |
| That' s an evil metal when the dog pedals to the floor | |
| I' m routin' down south, for my aim is to score | |
| Eight cylinder, screamin' ' the law!' | |
| Got a tank full of gas, trunk full of cash | |
| Hammers in the stash, scanners in the dash | |
| Radar detectors, troopers can' t find us | |
| We bubble down atl and hit the ' linas | |
| Then get clubbed with some dirty south thugs | |
| Go all out thugs, go in your house thugs | |
| Talk shit, put blood in your mouth thugs | |
| 36 south stuck, stay on route thugs | |
| You know how mac play, quiet town, tie it down | |
| I supply it now, by the pound | |
| Might front you a cue if you buy a pound | |
| If you didn' t try it then, why would you try it now? | |
| Then cuz mac rat wouldn' t fire a round into your crown | |
| I lay you down and retire you clown | |
| And i clap niggas, nat niggas kid a dirt | |
| Patpat with the deuce deuce, it' ll work | |
| Bitch ass niggas wearin' thongs and skirts | |
| Catch ' em early in the mornin' while they goin' to work | |
| Hey you pretty mother ers stay stuck in the mirror | |
| And you weak ass niggas only buss out the fear | |
| I know y' all softer than them feathers that they stuf in the dear | |
| I pack two barettas, never bust in their ear | |
| Twist your shit back, spit ' til my gats is back | |
| Pack four pieces like a kit kat. heh, get that? | |
| Cop cris' by the sixpack, range rov?' dot six that | |
| Benz coupe, drop six that | |
| Buggy eye seven come out? shit, took the six back | |
| Switch the double r, the double r' s are, gotta get that | |
| You see how we play, pop cris' on the eway | |
| Soakin' the seat, gettin' drunk with glee | |
| Or the sharp bar, grill simon, poppin' dom p | |
| Why you chicken when you chasin' your how with hot tea | |
| Niggas flashin' back money like it' s they money | |
| Slap 500 on back of a threetwenty | |
| I' m bringin' it to any nigga tryin' to shoot games yeah | |
| With them bullshit buggyeyed kits and cds | |
| memphis bleek | |
| Check it out, yo, yo | |
| Well, i' m a lil' nigga don' t speak, i tote heat | |
| Here to shut down your whole operation on the street | |
| Bleek, you know niggas just had to recruit this | |
| My flow drewl out like a old nigga toothless | |
| Who would believe they pump bleek with ritilin | |
| Too hyped up, but weed calm my adrenaline | |
| Roll day on the strip, sk in the crib | |
| Hundred crack viles, playin' the benj' | |
| Nickel nine gleam, like this armoraled up | |
| My squad be armed up, gotcha niggas' arms up | |
| Who the want what? me and bean' s trumped up | |
| Witcha town under seige, dillinger in the sleave | |
| If my gun jam, you niggas squeeze on me | |
| You niggas them cats got the coded' s on me | |
| I' m on to my off game, leave the stadium for in stores | |
| Floss chains and i pimp whores, stay smoked out | |
| Shirt be poked out with the slums knows eight | |
| Six to jump out, you eat what you spit | |
| Mother er die clean | |
| For you actin' tought cats, but in your heart you scream | |
| I read your body languo | |
| You want violence and don' t wanna mingle | |
| You want a challange get it brought to for every angle | |
| This shit' ll slow ' em down, i bet that | |
| Ya up front dough and your six backed out, mother er | |
| foxy brown | |
| Sassy fox some brick money, cop me a drop | |
| You know how i run it, 600, glassy top | |
| Rock them light gray wrist shit, flash the rocks | |
| The red, the yellow, the green, causin' traffic stops | |
| Bitch please, never freeze, gonna blast the glock | |
| Then i show a little cleave' and breeze past the cops | |
| You talk slick but suck dick for money in y' all hand | |
| I' m like ' bitch, i got more money than your man' | |
| While you get your knees scraped up, cum all on your glands | |
| Shit, i' m in the v twinz ballin' them tramps | |
| Y' all hoes greasy, so i keep bitch easy | |
| Rookie, you know about glocks and pock' books? | |
| You know na na rock that shit, parada that shit | |
| And scotch that shit, dolce gabba that shit | |
| Hollow points, top that shit, you tryin' to aim | |
| Pop that shit, yeah, nigga, fox got that shit | |
| You see the ice wrist shit, can you cop that shit | |
| Channel crocodile and ostrich shit, whoa | |
| You know my style, i be spendin' they cash | |
| And i' ll show their little dick some celebrity ass | |
| And get ' em a brick, i know what style to get them niggas shit real | |
| Well, , i let ' em live and lick the tip of my shit | |
| To remind ' em of some rose petals, candles, and shit | |
| Or some hydro like the nigga grew a plant in my shit | |
| So that' s what it is, that' s why them hoes mad at my shit | |
| See me wildin' in the foursix, stylin' on them bumass | |
| Goddess mc, y' all bitches is littles foxes | |
| See my girls' friends, tossin' they little watches | |
| Cris? i pops it. in' a nigga topless | |
| Cats? i fouls on. hoes? i styles on, nigga | |
| Wear y' all out then air y' all out | |
| Over here? hustle from where, clear all out | |
| Shit, greyhound bitch, stay down bitch | |
| And i know jigga see me here to lay down shit | |
| I will spray y' all niggas, waste y' all niggas | |
| Cuz i ed the nigga and pay y' all niggas | |
| Shit, what the |