| When you walk in the bar
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| And you dressed like a star
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| Rockin' your F me pumps
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| And the men notice you
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| With your Gucci bag crew
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| Can’t tell who he’s lookin' to
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| Cuz you all look the same
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| Everyone knows your name
|
| And that’s your whole claim to fame
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| Never miss a night
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| Cuz your dream in life
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| Is to be a footballer’s wife
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| You don’t like players
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| That’s what you say-a
|
| But you really wouldn’t mind a millionaire
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| You don’t like ballers
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| They don’t do nothing for ya
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| But you’d love a rich man six foot two or taller
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| You’re more than a fan
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| Lookin' for a man
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| But you end up with one-nights-stands
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| He could be your whole life
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| If you got past one night
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| But that part never goes right
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| In the morning you’re vexed
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| He’s onto the next
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| And you didn’t even get no text
|
| Don’t be too upset
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| If they call you a sket
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| Cuz like the news everyday you get press
|
| You don’t like players
|
| That’s what you say-a
|
| But you really wouldn’t mind a millionaire
|
| Or them big ballers
|
| Don’t do nothing for ya
|
| But you’d love a rich man six foot two or taller
|
| You can’t sit down right
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| Cuz your jeans are too tight
|
| And you’re lucky it’s ladies night
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| With your big empty purse
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| Every week it gets worse
|
| At least your breasts cost more than hers
|
| So you did Miami
|
| Cuz you got there for free
|
| But somehow you missed the plane
|
| You did too much E
|
| Met somebody
|
| And spent the night getting caned
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| Without girls like you
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| There’d be no fun
|
| We’d go to the club and not see anyone
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| Without girls like you
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| There’s no nightlife
|
| All those men just go home to their wives
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| Don’t be mad at me
|
| Cuz you’re pushing thirty
|
| And your old tricks no longer work
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| You should have known from the jump
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| That you always get dumped
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| So dust off your fuck me pumps |