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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Foxy Brown
Vocals
JAY-Z
Vocals
René & Angela
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Angela Winbush
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
Rene Moore
Songwriter
Samuel Barnes
Songwriter
Bobby Watson
Songwriter
Bruce Swedien
Songwriter
Jean Claude Olivier
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Bill Essex
Mixing Engineer
J.C. Olivier
Producer
Mike Fronda
Recording Engineer
Poke & Tone
Producer
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
What up, pop? Brace yourself as I ride on top
Close your eyes as you ride right out your socks
Double, lose his mind as he grind in the tunnel
Wanna gimme the cash he made off his last bundle
Nasty girl, don't pass me the world
I push the V, not the backseat girl
Don't deepthroat for C-notes, she floats
Murder she wrote and keeps the heat close
Firm, ****, we 'posed to be the illest on three coasts
Familia bigger than Icos
Y'all, Danny DeVito's, small ****
All I see is the panty eaters, that's all ****
Loan sharkin' this year, raise the figgas
Fifteen percent make the whole world sit up
And take notice, Na Na take over
Y'all take quotas to hit papa
[Verse 2]
Straight out the gate y'all, we drop hits
Now tell me, how nasty can you get?
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
That's right, we drop hits
Tell me, how nasty can you get
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
[Verse 3]
I'm too Live, nasty as I wanna be
Don't shake your sassy ass in front of me
'Fore I take you there and tear your back out
That shit ain't happened since The Mack was out
I'm Lola Falana, dripped in Gabbana
Nineties style, the finest style
Right away it's the fit, wanna taste the shit
Put me on the basin, throw your face in it, fucker
Na Na, y'all can't touch her
My sex drive all night like a trucker
Let alone the skills I possess
And y'all gonna see by these mils I possess
Never settle for less, I'm in excess
Not inexpensive VVS
To the two, that's just the way I'm built
Nasty, what, classy, still
[Verse 4]
Straight out the gate y'all, we drop hits
Now tell me, how nasty can you get
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
That's right, we drop hits
Tell me, how nasty can you get
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
[Verse 5]
Well, you can hold what I got, roll with the Roc
A-Fella, capo in the candy apple drop
Will tears fall to your ears if I don't stop?
Can ya throw it like a quarterback, third and a lot?
Dig me, I get you locked like Biggie with herb in the spot
Word middie, the cop 'n biddie
Uh, I'm the bomb-diggy, punana
Sexy brown thing, uh, Madon' y'all
Make 'em turn over from the full-court pressure
To undress ya and shit all over your asses
I ain't playin', knockin' out at the weigh-in
I'm sayin', what's the sense in delayin'
I'm tryna run G from the P to the AM
I saw your little thing, now I'm swayin', OK'in
[Verse 6]
Straight out the gate y'all, we drop hits
Now tell me, how nasty can you get
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
That's right, we drop hits
Tell me, how nasty can you get
All the way from the hood to your neck of the woods
It's ripped, one thing for sure (I'll be good)
Written by: Angela Winbush, Jean "Poke" Olivier, Jean Claude Olivier, Rene Moore, Samuel Barnes, Shawn Carter