| Bag gone, hat gone, coat gone
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| Why don’t cha get the hell on out the do'
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| He told me number three was cheap
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| Wit a chick, wit a stick, yeah them girls be freakin'
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| Checkin’in motels every other weekend
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| Say brah I can’t picture lil’one eatin'
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| Boy you ain’t know fo’sho’she creepin'
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| While she been tellin’me dog, she goin’to meetings
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| Meeting Kitty wit her mouth
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| That’s what yo’chick 'bout
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| Man, pass me my asthma pump, put lil’one out
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| Sometimes I be likin' when seenin’chicks dykin'
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| Pissin’on each other, mud wrestling, and fightin'
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| Hair everywhere, sratchin’and bitin'
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| Pass me my asthma pump again man, this shit exciting
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| I be like, «let's get jumped"like a game of checkers
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| And I done cheat more chicks, than Nelly sold records
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| E.I, C. I, turn a chick out
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| Then give it to another chick and leave it up in her mouth
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| (Sung)
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| Bag gone, hat gone, coat gone
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| Why don’t cha get the hell on out the do'
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| There’s a story about a bitch named Sally
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| A hot girl, lived in that rat-hoe alley
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| She stayed sharp, stayed rockin’Balance
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| And a fat pussy, laid down in the Cadi'
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| Back of the seat or back of the Palace
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| I’m a Hot Boy it really don’t matter
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| My brother K. C plays them tellers
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| That’ll jump off, hit a stepper, whatever
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| Michael Kipper, James Peter got a big better
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| Dick gotta a bitch in Miami a dick-sweater
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| Like Delores from A.T.L, «The Freak of the Week»
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| She did me, Slim, Joe, and Tiki
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| I don’t care, bitch just ride
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| Shake yo’pussy, and shake yo’thigh
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| Get yo’hat, get yo’coat, it’s time to ride
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| Baby girl lookin’at me like she surprise
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| (Sung)
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| Bag gone, hat gone, coat gone
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| Why don’t cha get the hell on out the do'
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| Let me tell you about another one of my lovers
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| I caught the ignorant chick pokin’holes in rubbers
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| Talkin''bout she late, sorry no wait
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| Girl you fucked me, Mike Tyson, and O. J These hoes be pullin’they raw tactics
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| Baby makin’and jaw-jackin'
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| Mami suck dick like a lowrider
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| Ooh-wee, don’t stop her
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| Thinkin’that I’ma claim that baby
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| Girl you coo-coo, stupid, dumb, and crazy
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| His eyes green, and his hair wavy
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| Thought you had me huh?, got me, playin’me
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| She movin’like a nigga hittin’switches
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| But I bet I’d hit that old shitty
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| She a popper, H. G non-stopper
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| She from Uptown, baby girl don’t knock her
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| (Sung)
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| Bag gone, hat gone, coat gone
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| Why don’t cha get the hell on out the do'
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| (Talking)
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| Nah shawty, don’t cry now
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| Get them old ass iron skates you left up under the bed
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| And them old ass pro cases that you had, and all them beta tapes
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| And get your old ass beeper
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| You know that beeper that look like a garage opener
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| The one that you had, get that shit up out my drawer
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| and get on out of here
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| Yeah you got to leave, got to go Get that rat coat, that old ass coat that you said was a mink
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| Shit ain’t nothin’but a big ass nutria rat
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| Oh yeah, and get your cell phone
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| That big ass cell phone wit the car battery hooked up to it
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| The one that be causin’Cancer, you know that big ass
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| football you wear on your face, hurtin’and shit
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| Get your old ass cell phone
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| And get them Chic Jeans, that Jamaica Joe shirt, and
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| them Hearochees that yo’ass was wearing when you came here
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| And them big fake ass «Salt-N-Peppa"earrings
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| You know them earrings Salt-N-Peppa had in the 80's
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| You better get them bitches up outta here too
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| And get them footy socks, the ones wit the balls in the back
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| That’s yours too, you need to get that, get on outta here
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| You know what i’m sayin', I use to love you, I don’t love you no more
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| Don’t like you no more, none of that, you know what I’m sayin'
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| And get your Cutlass keys
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| Get your old ass Cutlass, the one that we parked off the block
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| You know what I’m sayin', 'cause I didn’t want it in my driveway
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| 'cause it was leakin’oil
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| Get your old ass Cutlass key’s and get in your Cutlass and ride out
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| Yeah, you hood roach, you ain’t even a rat, you a roach
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| Yeah! |