Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hardcore , by - Foxy Brown. Release date: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hardcore |
| What? |
| That Firm shit, that Firm shit, what’s that? |
| What? |
| That Firm shit, that Firm shit |
| Everyday I’ma polli bout, who’s the best hotty out? |
| And will they ever let Gotti out? |
| Am I real? |
| Feel free to try me out |
| Guaranteed eternally, you signin out |
| I only bang quarters, not a thing short of than a dime, rhyme like a crime scene reporter |
| Thought shorty would lose but the game taught her |
| Hoodrat just like Thelma, James’daughter |
| Killer put you on, got you laced in Bucon |
| Bledest stone, where the place you call home? |
| Brooklyn girl, plotted then I took the world |
| You know the whole drill, Na Na so Ill |
| Make mills and escro, decimals |
| Cancoon, Mexico, X-and-O |
| Bracelets got all, along with gold |
| Now it’s platinum rings, songs is sold |
| Hot from the jumpstart, let the game spark |
| Thriller, will I shot to the top of the charts |
| Head honcho, cat Esco |
| Push everything from the Coupe to the Fo' |
| Never love a ho, get my dick sucked |
| Smoke the chocolate, trick my chicks up Pass all the ki’s to mami, whip it up Fox get the B’s, Bonnie live it up Your love, so good |
| You deserve some hardcore |
| That Firm shit, that Firm shit |
| FIRM, NIGGA WHAT? |
| Get my twat licked |
| Never love a trick, get him for his chips |
| Fuck him and his dick, nigga where the six? |
| He actin like a bitch, he should’ve known this |
| Got the stone the wrist, I ain’t no bonin this |
| Bomb ass shit, I could play with my shit |
| Rap niggas, capitalise, stock figures |
| Cognac is that liquor |
| Got me all numbed out, now I’m in the street with the guns out |
| Niggas better take me home, 'fore I dumbs out |
| Might fuck around, lay somethin down |
| wit mad niggas out here to see that shit |
| We that click, runnin shit up in New Yick |
| all the way down to Hicktown, layin it down |
| Fox be the classiest, the sassiest |
| The clubs, all thugs grab my wrists, offer me moselle Crist |
| More of the shit to hold you with |
| Keep hatin I’ma fold your bitch |
| Should’ve known to control that chick, hoes mad cos I roll the 6 |
| Doe full of ices, black Isis |
| Sidewalk, my niggas stay fuckin your girl |
| The rest be, hoes in stretch jeans with red seams |
| Take it from me, let a nigga dream |
| Make em lick that, get the cat for his cream |
| It’s about time I reverse that |
| Bitches learn game, rehearse that |
| It ain’t no love, ma remember that |
| Ya hoes wanna slap while I got him on his back |
| tryin to hurt that |
| Think you’re grown, half the niggas sittin at home |
| watchin the kids, while you’re gettin it on |
| I’m too smart for that, caught you creepin |
| Receipts in your Prada bag, sweets every weekend |
| Spendin my doe, I coulda spent that on hydro |
| You ain’t slick enough, think I don’t know |
| Dumb ass, think I slept on your bum ass |
| Knew the whole stee bout a chip like me Did it on G-P, let you eat me Couldn’t freak me, I’m better off with TV |
| That Firm shit, that Firm shit |
| Interlude: |
| Can’t get enough, oooooh oooooh, oooooh oooohooooh |
| That Firm shit, that Firm shit |
| Interlude to fade |