Jay-Z and Sauce Money - Face Off

Sauce motherfucking, Jigga, Jigga feel this

This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes

Yeah, get your ones up, (put your guns up) it's on
Ladies know that when the sun's up I'm gone
Fuck them bitches though, digits though
Fuck, however I bring it niggas know, what
All blacked out with the MAC out
I take shorty to the Ritz blow her back out
Sun dress, undress throw her back out
In and out like a crack house, keep it moving
Face off, with the .38 scraped off
Keep shorty laced, caked off of eight balls
Know your place
Sauce scorch when you least expect it, yeast infected
Y'all irritate bitches (piece protected)
So I hear you hate bitches? Love the dough
Ya flow irritate niggas
Fuck them though, it's all out
Have a fall out and fucked your girl
On top now we call out fuck the world
Face off

This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes

I apologize ladies, I'm lovin' you right
You must be used to me trickin' but we fuckin' tonight
No wine, no dine, no wheelin' the whip
All night long just feelin' the dick be-i-itch
Sauce mothafuckin' slayin' I'm sayin' with no delayin'
Can you beat that? I eat that, he just playin'
Nigga you never know what a chick could do
Pull the trigga too, check the shit Jigga do
My crew, marry the same bitch, I do
Back plan, stack grands, daddy like I you
Love them hoes Jigga? Ha, how that sound?
Women start to fall, we all bat around
Let my whole team hit it, scatter 'round
But never seen with it, pat 'em down
Check for cream in it, these riches
Got nothin' to do with these bitches
Nothin' y'all can do to stop these digits
Face off

This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes

Can I touch that? What's that? Leave it for dead
Keep you arm over you face, nigga, keep your head
Keepin' watch to survive, if you sleep you dead
Stay fly 'til you die nigga deep with bread
With each word you say I guess the beef is dead
Ladies and gentlemen, like impeach the pres'
Val kilmer style nigga draw heat with feds
Broad day like De Niro ,shoot all day
I'm the man fuckin' attraction, you just foreplay
Get a hit out, I come through, blow up, you spit out
What a keep it cocked faithfully like salat
With one in the drop, don't get hit up
I be the 4-5th flamer, hoes, bitch shamer
Clap cats and snitch, give your whole click name up
Look I done came up (and) tore the whole game up
Meet me in the square with one in the chamber
The face off nigga

This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
(If you feel me) Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes
This goes out to my Brooklyn crew
Put your guns up in the air if your feel me
Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes

This goes out, uh huh, uh huh-uh
Put your guns up in the air (if you feel me)
Fuck 'em all day, fuck 'em all night
We don't love these hoes (yeah)

This goes out (to my Brooklyn crew)

Written by:
Samuel Barnes, Jean-Claude Olivier, Manu Dibango, Todd Gaither, Shawn Carter

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Cloud9

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