| Patten leather Pradas, in my b-boy stance
|
| Armani black tee, with my dick in my hands
|
| All the ladies jockin', looking for romance
|
| But I just wanna do it like the Nike brand
|
| Girlys' say I’m fly, say she like my style
|
| Plus I got the best dressed MySpace profile
|
| I ask her her name, she said Shante
|
| Like the real Roxanne but it’s spelled a different way
|
| So we dilly-dally, drank a shot of
|
| She took me to the car to smoke Cali
|
| She had a white Jetta Rabbit that was so impressive
|
| It had gold trim, and gold
|
| Baby she was bad in a major way
|
| But I just needed love like LL Cool J
|
| And I was on my game so I could not miss
|
| She had on fifty-four eleven’s, and it went like this
|
| I was funky fresh, she was ice-cold
|
| We was at the club so you know how it goes
|
| The DJ, he was cuttin', mixin' up jam
|
| So I had to grab the mic so she would know who I am
|
| «Coming to the mic, we got your boy
|
| STS, Sugar Tongue Slim, all the way from Atlanta, Georgia
|
| Ya’ll give it up, let’s go»
|
| Hell naw, dog, they don’t know me
|
| It’s all broads in the Cadillac, say O. G
|
| The whole squad got battle raps, plus high heat
|
| Now we can spit it at you, or just ride to the beat, it’s that deep
|
| Concrete like the definition of what’s street
|
| You in the wrong lane, thinkin' you cuttin' off me, me
|
| Four-wheelin' and concealing something that will get you crumpin'
|
| Got your wires criss crossed, what I toss will get you jumpin'
|
| Slumpin' in your big toys, thought ya’ll was Big Boi
|
| What happened with the beef, huh, did the shit spoil?
|
| but don’t strike, gotta' lot of life in ya'
|
| Don’t fight, your best bet is to go right, aiight
|
| STS flow better than I dress, blow cess when I’m stressed
|
| If I did it, won’t confess to the bullshit the rest
|
| To get the cops off the block
|
| We post bail, roll a 'L', and get back to hip-hop
|
| So I took her to the bar, and started blowing my snaps
|
| Henny got her loose, and now she running the trap
|
| Baby she was with it, I was down to kick it
|
| Wrote me down the address, followed by the digits
|
| Grabbed my Starter jacket from the check coat girl
|
| Hopped up in the Caddy, bumping Ready for the World
|
| Cruising down the avenue, puffing my jane
|
| One fly nigga driving hoes insane
|
| Pulled up to the house about a quarter 'til two
|
| She was looking fresh, and I was feeling brand new
|
| Sat me on the bed, started rubbing my back
|
| Lit me up an 'L', told me try to relax
|
| You dealing with a mack, girl, I’m cool as a fan
|
| And that’s when she went and put my mic in her hand
|
| We did it like this, we did it like that
|
| I beat it up so bad, she thought I had a Wiffle bat |