[Fabolous (Paul Cain)]
Yeah, yo Cain (what up nigga)
Why wouldn't these bitches love us nigga?
Why wouldn't these niggas hate us huh?
(Why wouldn't they Fab?)
Yeah, (Desert Storm), uh, yeah, uh
Why wouldn't I talk as greasy as cheese steak meat
In a strawberry Range, pie crust piping on the cheesecake seats
I'm known for hittin' women's soft spots
With Princess cut Canaries the size of lemon cough drops
I'm right behind 'em in the Porsche drop
Linen soft top, sick chain with 20 point rocks
Take your bitch, why wouldn't I?
The whip got chrome shoes, cream leather seats with old wooden sides
Uh, yeah, what's really poppin', usually boys know
This ghetto superstar with the Bruce Lee-roy glow
Niggas has to hate the outcome (yeah)
Plus I'm in a throwback from the same year they assassinated Malcolm
Make so much ends, I got to find faster ways to count 'em (yeah)
A minute on the block, how fast I make a thousand? (Cain)
That nigga you love to hate, still hug blocks and bubble weight
Off the love I can't
Baby girl, why wouldn't fellas stop ya?
After we come through the hood in helicopters (yeah)
The dro I got in this wood, is hela-proper
We do the damn thing, who could they tell us not ta
[Chorus - Fabolous (Paul Cain)]
Why wouldn't this joint make you wanna dance?
Why wouldn't these jewels make you wanna glance?
(Why wouldn't this whip make you wanna ride?
And why wouldn't this thing be on my side?)
Why wouldn't this game have you on your knees?
Why wouldn't these 20's be on the V's?
(Why wouldn't thi