| Ha-ha, ha-ha, come here girl
|
| Ha-ha, ha-ha, come here girl
|
| Ha-ha, ha-ha, come here girl
|
| Ha-ha, ha-ha
|
| Oooooooh
|
| Baby what’s your name?
|
| Oooooooh
|
| Are you wearin Bugle Boy jeans?
|
| (Hell naw!) Oooooooh
|
| I heard you was from Atlanta
|
| Oooooooh
|
| But baby please excuse my manners, I just wanna know
|
| Are we cuttin'?! |
| Are we cuttin'?! |
| Are we cuttin'?!
|
| Oooooooh, hell yea, yeah yeah yea
|
| Oooooooh
|
| She won’t see tomorrow, if I don’t cut tonight
|
| Yeah, Friday night (yeah)
|
| Yeah, ballin holmes (yeah)
|
| Got a nigga smellin fresh as a rose
|
| Grab my kicks and tuck my clothes (cause y’all!)
|
| Sharp as a knife, and this is the life
|
| Pastorrr, ya tell me how ya love that?
|
| Let a nigga see that pussy crack, where you at? |
| (uh)
|
| The dance flo'(yeah) that’s my shit (yeah)
|
| Baby girl let ya hair down
|
| Show a nigga what you workin wit, twerkin wit
|
| I ammm low-key
|
| You don’t wanna leave? |
| (c'mon baby)
|
| You don’t wanna go back to the suite (c'mon)
|
| Let you caress my feet, huh
|
| Now what you wanna know?
|
| Off the chain!
|
| Damn! |
| Damn boo
|
| Where ya been all my lifetime?
|
| Let me fuck ya 'til the sun shine (uh huh) uh huh (uh huh)
|
| What I do? |
| (whoaa) Mind my bizz
|
| No I can’t take ya home wit me Baby girl, it is what it is, show biz
|
| Saturday morn'(damn!) damn I’m weak
|
| Knew whassup when you came to the room
|
| Talkin about gettin some sleep
|
| She’s the, the-truth, shorty got loose
|
| Sorry, but all I needed was a pretty red substitute
|
| What you talkin?
|
| I, bring heat when it’s hawkin
|
| Cause I, can’t stand a man that don’t understand
|
| I’m weighing kilos and grams the bitch wit the upper-hand
|
| I’m, bout to kill it; |
| you, dealin wit the realest
|
| Fuck the strawberry’s and chocolate (ohh)
|
| Hennessy and a condom, say they kissin and grindin
|
| It’s all about the timin; |
| I, really like Vice Versa
|
| But, tonight’s much worser, and um Philly chick you only travel wit for best of men
|
| Hand me out Atlanta just to see you in your belt and Timb’s
|
| Pastor Troy, won’t you just pass the boy
|
| In a, split second I’m answerin all questions
|
| You dummies are still confessin how money make you undress
|
| And so tell me
|
| — repeat to fade |