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