Do My Lyrics - The Understanding - Memphis Bleek

Turn that motherfucker louder 

It's the Roc in this motherfucker, biotch 

Oh yeah, bounce, uh uh, bounce 

Yeah, yeah bounce, come on 

Oh come, on bounce, come on 

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, come on 

Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, come on 

Do my ladies run it fat asses and flat stomachs 

Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman 

Or my dogs run it, let 'em know that you're still gunnin' 

Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' 

Yo I come through, few of my man's 

Scoop you and your friends 

You, you, and you with the Timbs 

In tight jeans, Chinese eyes 

Indian hair, Black girl ass 

Let me pour you a glass of Belvi 

Tell me all about your past 

Let me console your soul while I palm your ass 

And your man did what? He ain't give you? 

He cheated with her, I can't diss duke 

I tell you this though get with this dude 

I'll teach you about dough and show you what this do 

It's a secret society, all we ask is trust but I don't freeze bitches 

Just skeeze bitches break up happy homes 

Just seize misses you'll never get her back once you get a yacht 

How you love that? How you love that? 

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, come on 

Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, come on 

Do my ladies run it fat asses and flat stomachs 

Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman 

Or my dogs run it, let 'em know that you're still gunnin' 

Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' 

Ay, yo back woods rollin', rap you can't hold 'em 

ROC gear matchin' crews Bleek is chillin', Murda is chillin' 

What more can I say? We still killin' 'em 

Bags we still dealin' 'em, four wheels, we wheelin' them 

Chicks like I'm feelin' him, yeah ma okay 

Black jeans and Timberlands, give them adrenaline rush 

Ladies know the difference between them niggas and us 

We the R-O-C and we don't stop 

They don't make a gun that we don't pop 

Matter fact they don't make a car that we don't drop 

Thought you knew they don't make jewels that we don't cop 

What you knew? You actin' like the ROC ain't hot 

Or the car that I cop ain't missin' a top 

And even if they don't make drops that kind 

I tear da roof off like I'm Busta Rhymes motherfucker 

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, come on 

Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? 

Yeah, yeah, yeah come on 

Do my ladies run it fat asses and flat stomachs 

Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman 

Or my dogs run it, let 'em know that you're still gunnin' 

Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin' 

Do my ladies run this motherfucker? 

Okay 

Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? 

Uh-huh, okay, uh-huh 

Come on, come on 

It's the R O C, we don't stop 

R O C, we don't stop 

R O C, we don't stop 

Uh Memp Bleek, the understanding niggas 

Get your mind right, ha ha