8 Million Stories: The LOX – Bi**ches From Eastwick

This story is about a crazy encounter with three women they once mingled with. It turns out they weren’t the type of women that the Lox thought they were. These ladies had a motives for their actions and action is how this story ended. As you get deeper in the story, you will see how crazy these chicks were but who’s to blame for all of this occurring? This one has always been one of my favorites stories. Get a listen.

The LOX – Bi**ches From Eastwick

Ay yo, I woke up in a daze wit’ the slight headache.
You know the usual, the studio gettin’ red late.
Serious jet lag when I get to bed late.
That why I fuck, ’cause I be weak when I get head late.
Today I got a session wit’ Ronnie, I mean Veronica.
Met her last year, about a week before Hanukkah.
Sounds foolish, I mean, honey wasn’t Jewish,
But she had a lot of dough and she was nice on computers.
She told me she was born and raised in Bermuda,
And came here to get a job as a tutor.
I pursued her, make a long story short, screwed her.
She moved, and she came back, still on the same track.
Same wit’ same chips, ass, it was still fat.
I ain’t really think she was a freak,
But she did ask a lot of questions ’bout Stylez and Sheek.
She called me and said she was in town for a week,
The Westside, Manhattan, the Suite in the Marquise.
How I felt about gettin’ up fo’ old times sake.
I’m a bring Stylez and Sheek wit’ me, that’ll be great.
Jus’ have two friends, we gon’ bring the truck and the new Benz.
Desert in the stash and the Sony cam zoom lens.
All have ourselves one big hell of a weekend.
Eat at Puff’s joint, and catch a show at the beacon.
Twist a dutch blaze from Y-O to the Hudson.
Pass the tall one, two-five, we still puffin.
We got the heat on, a cold night in the winter.
Styles you remember, Sheek you remember.

Oh yeah, I remember them hoes that night.
We was at the beacon, right?
Chris Tucker performing.
All of us was in there, outside it was stormin’,
Cats and Dogs.
Ay yo, these hoes was tough.
Besides the air condition on high, we was icy enough.
From my neck to the belt buckle, to our shoes, shall I go on?
With five of us up front, he needed shades to perform.
Mose from the flow up, we inside, toe up.
I drink, they smoke, no coke.
Besides the shit he said on stage, the cash we had on us was no joke.
I slid four seats down, she sittin’ there, smilin’.
Lookin’ like she from an island, not them chicks that be out wylin’.
Told me that her name was Cindy,
Favorite show Mark and Mindy,
Favorite color, green, no kids, but plan to have plenty.
We chit and chatted, ’bout this and that.
From what kind of whip she push,
To what bar she be at,
She played hard to get,
But we made it from the movie to the jacuzzi,
From the jacuzzi to the bed,
We fucked until we both got woozy.
Woke up, breath stinkin’,
Yawnin’ and shit.
I smelt breakfast in the kitchen, but where was the bitch?
I walked in there, it was cheese, eggs, and grits on the table,
Wit’ beef sausages and orange juice, next to the cable.
Wit’ a note saying sorry, I had to rob you, baby, but
I need cash like you, I ain’t your ordinary slut,
Or dick teaser, please, I need food in my freezer.
And by the time you read dis note, I done been spent yo’ Visa.

[Styles P]
I remember Beatrice, but niggas like me call her B,
‘Cause she like to fuck doggy style, plus hold the D.
But now I got to handle dis ’cause they skandalous.
Cindy robbed Sheek and moved to Los Angeles,
Like I won’t kill a friends.
Went to bounce, they stole a Benz.
Note in the garage:
T0 y’all entourage.
Y’all three rugged niggas, but y’all gotta get robbed.
Don’t take it personal, we didn’t finish the job.
Menage à trois.
We kill niggas wit’ they dick hard.
They got me lookin’ at the letter stuck.
Why the fuck they left the truck?
Three bitches in my house,
Probably try to wet me up.
Crept to the kitchen,
Seen Ronnie by the cabinet.
Prada gun holster with the forty fo’ Mag in it,
Shot her in the heart.
Then caught the urge of stabbing it.
Then I seen Cindy,
The bitch tried to end me,
Running out the living room,
Bustin’ off the semi.
The bitch couldn’t aim,
So I blew her out the frame.
Turned around to Beatrice,
Why you look speechless?
We could have lived it up and jus’ fucked on the beaches,
And now you gotta die,
And the stupid bitch is reaching.
Before I cocked it back
I heard tires screeching,
Saw Sheek and J,
Started motherfucking squeezin.

“8 Million Stories” is a series that showcase some of the great storyline tracks done in Hip Hop. Alot of these tracks go unseen to most as unappreciated album tracks. Anyone can tell a story but can they craft it into a great song?

 More ‘8 Million Stories’ Posts

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