Lyrics:

What, what?
Bitches backstab with no remorse, fuck bitches
They get blasted when I'm lickin off, Heather B
Hard hitter, when I'm gettin off, these bitches
With no father figures they be trickin off, feel me
They beez off the heez knees and naps to show
If they try to run between these I blow they doors
Put the jinx on em all like they sophomores
Cause these bitches got the gall to holla hardcore
I'm crackin jaws, Heather B the southpaw, with no look
Give a fuck about these bitches, uhh, and that's the hook
You know how I'm gon' get it, split it, off the books
And you ain't got to love me, trust me, simply hook

Chorus:

When you countin on your peoples and they don't pull through
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
Niggaz game so weak I can see right through
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
Everybody got a time and I know mine's due
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
See you out there gettin yours, gots ta gets mine too
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)

Heather B, Grand like a Cherokee
Loredo, I need my hands on some alfredo
Streets condonin it, Back on the Block, Quincy Jonesin it
Prada, get publishing, what? I'm owning it huh
You feel me now? You get the point?
Heather B B B B drops oowops on your joints
You really, can't rate me or mistake me for another
I Brings In Da Noize And Funk like Savion Glover
Wicked, like those sisters and that stepmother
Got your clocks strikin twelve I'm bringin hell to Cinderella
Fuck how much you sell cause, I read your album cover
You couldn't write a jam if your last name was Smucker
Got all my motherfuckers yellin Jersey up in here
No Limit like Master P I like how he Do Dat There
Listen here I'm livin sort of dan-gerous-ly
Plus I'm bulletproof no use in aimin at me

Chorus

I spits pure fire, I burn the finest of designs
Heather B that MC that runs up on em from behind
Who got your back now, where you I'll crew at?
The sons you talked about with guns, the ones with gats and all that?
I figured that some rap for plaques over, R&B tracks
You got to watch, what you say if you ain't really, livin that
Another rapper lost, lookin all stank up in The Source
What's all that shit fo'? Did your momma, raise a hoe?
Fight it, and I win, I'm that rhyme, veteran
With that Nighttime Sniffly Sneezin Rest Your Head, Medicine
See me live rock on Keenan, and even, Letterman
Rock Chris Rock, blow his spot, like nitro-glycerin
Hold that like they don't know, but I'm like years ahead of them
Plus I shed, more light right, than Thomas, Edison
And I'll take it there end your career with one stroke of my pen
And I got enough love, I don't need no mo' friends

Chorus

When they poppin champagne and you only drinkin brew
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
When you know you broke as hell and your rent is due
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
And you ain't got no love, you know you ain't true
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
Frontin with them niggaz from that weak ass crew
I'ma do me (you gots to do you)
And I'm out