What's My Name

Guns up niggas

Uh, uh, uh, throw it up

Throw it up

BGS, you heard me?

What you want? (Uh) Fabolous (yeah)

We get it on (uh-huh)

Brooklyn don't ever get it wrong

Yeah, uh-huh, yeah, uh, yo

Them niggas sitting in the couch

I sitting in custom models of fives

Keep opening your mouth and put a gun nozzle inside

Helis circle my house, Caprices follow my ride

Fuck with Fabolous, I doubt you'll see tomorrow alive

My niggas catch you with your spouse, spit hollows then slide

Leave your shit hanging out, clutching a bottle, St. Ives

Tell them put it in they mouth, bitch swallow your pride

When BGS coming out, clubs put bottles aside

Your girl glance then I bone her, leave ya mans in a coma

Ride around in half a G with a Branson aroma

Kicks always look new don't walk the pavement too often

Play with my money your fam better be saving for coffins

I'm a made man, same one who sent out the hits

Make you rock vests, carry guns, ten out ya six

With the raw, baking soda get done in the base

And with the bitches drinks still get thrown in they face

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh

I got one thing on my mind, nigga, I'm destined to blow

I'm not an MC who signed for a S and a robe

Rock button-down shine in my Wesson below

NYPD wanna find where I'm resting the blow

Get a dime, I don't smoke less than an O

Money looking too good, never the kind stressing a hoe

With your pay I wouldn't rhyme in your shows

Y'all sell nickels, and every dime dressing your hoes

We pop bottles, my man just beat a temp on a cop

Tints, chrome, 30 day temps on the drop

Throw on hooded mink soon as the temperature drop

Limp through metrop' with a Ruger with an F on the top

Been in the game since I was throwing B-18

And these studs cost the same as that 318

.380 tucked in my size 38 jeans

Nigga, F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's the F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S, uh-huh

How you go from bagging coca and kicking mag in toasters

To a rap artist, a BM Wagon roster

How, with no album, videos, ads and posters

You got guns shoot 'em, what's the point of having holsters?

Tell 'em bitches Fab and costa my name on the ave of sosas

Proud of niggas that you grab in doffer

What you know about having soldiers that'll leave you on ave's and rovers

Sagging over, motherfucker

See me in a Z3 with a travelling chauffeur

Sipping cups of Hennessy without adding soda

Talk is cheap, but my vocals alone cost ten grand

Pop up to the hood mid-December with skin tans

These niggas wanna ride like the don do it

In clubs on the VIP side sipping don fluid

Act up they find your body outside of the conduit

Bruised up, with five of these Teflon Stewart

Fabolous, I keep some tucked on the waist

Baguettes in the band, princesses trucked on the face

Vance leather, fresh pair, constructions are laced

And I don't care if they cover girl, they getting fucked in the face

Yeah, yeah, Fabolous

BGS, throw your guns up

Uh, Desert Storm

Uh