Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Do You, artist - Heather b. Date of issue: 11.06.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Do You |
| What, what? |
| Bitches backstab with no remorse, fuck bitches |
| They get blasted when I’m lickin off, Heather B |
| Hard hitter, when I’m gettin off, these bitches |
| With no father figures they be trickin off, feel me |
| They beez off the heez knees and naps to show |
| If they try to run between these I blow they doors |
| Put the jinx on em all like they sophomores |
| Cause these bitches got the gall to holla hardcore |
| I’m crackin jaws, Heather B the southpaw, with no look |
| Give a fuck about these bitches, uhh, and that’s the hook |
| You know how I’m gon' get it, split it, off the books |
| And you ain’t got to love me, trust me, simply hook |
| When you countin on your peoples and they don’t pull through |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| Niggas game so weak I can see right through |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| Everybody got a time and I know mine’s due |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| See you out there gettin yours, gots ta gets mine too |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| Heather B, Grand like a Cherokee |
| Loredo, I need my hands on some alfredo |
| Streets condonin it, Back on the Block, Quincy Jonesin it |
| Prada, get publishing, what? |
| I’m owning it huh |
| You feel me now? |
| You get the point? |
| Heather B B B B drops oowops on your joints |
| You really, can’t rate me or mistake me for another |
| I Brings In Da Noize And Funk like Savion Glover |
| Wicked, like those sisters and that stepmother |
| Got your clocks strikin twelve I’m bringin hell to Cinderella |
| Fuck how much you sell cause, I read your album cover |
| You couldn’t write a jam if your last name was Smucker |
| Got all my motherfuckers yellin Jersey up in here |
| No Limit like Master P I like how he Do Dat There |
| Listen here I’m livin sort of dan-gerous-ly |
| Plus I’m bulletproof no use in aimin at me |
| I spits pure fire, I burn the finest of designs |
| Heather B that MC that runs up on em from behind |
| Who got your back now, where you ill crew at? |
| The sons you talked about with guns, the ones with gats and all that? |
| I figured that some rap for plaques over, R&B tracks |
| You got to watch, what you say if you ain’t really, livin that |
| Another rapper lost, lookin all stank up in The Source |
| What’s all that shit fo'? |
| Did your momma, raise a hoe? |
| Fight it, and I win, I’m that rhyme, veteran |
| With that Nighttime Sniffly Sneezin Rest Your Head, Medicine |
| See me live rock on Keenan, and even, Letterman |
| Rock Chris Rock, blow his spot, like nitro-glycerin |
| Hold that like they don’t know, but I’m like years ahead of them |
| Plus I shed, more light right, than Thomas, Edison |
| And I’ll take it there end your career with one stroke of my pen |
| And I got enough love, I don’t need no mo' friends |
| When they poppin champagne and you only drinkin brew |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| When you know you broke as hell and your rent is due |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| And you ain’t got no love, you know you ain’t true |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| Frontin with them niggas from that weak ass crew |
| I’ma do me (you gots to do you) |
| And I’m out |