| Baby, if you wit' it, just clap yo' hands
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| Stop playin' girl, back that ass up and
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| Spend that cash dog, drink the Henny and
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| Freak that girl like you tryna have a baby cuz
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| Everybody’s out to fuck tonight
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| The fine women, they out to fuck tonight
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| My niggas, they down to fuck tonight
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| Ladies, fellas, the won’t stop players
|
| Came through the door, seen it before
|
| Hands touchin' the ceiling, booty streakin' the floor
|
| You ever felt good to the point you so sure that
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| All the attention in the club is yours
|
| Got your hair done up, shades Christian Dior
|
| Leave us, trade a little happy on your Vickey draws
|
| Gettin' your dance on hard, who could wish for more
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| And your crew’s all but know it’s a horse
|
| Got the Don all warm and it ain’t the Hen'
|
| Feelin' like the Don woman, you could wrestle her chin
|
| Shorty, come a little closer while the record spin
|
| I wanna freak a little longer, can they play it again
|
| Yo, got my mind on my money, money on my mind
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| And to let you know, you just as good as gold
|
| It’s like we got our own little private party goin' on
|
| And the scene just changed into shores of San Juan
|
| It’s so intimate, we so into it
|
| Such a tender thing, but fuck I’m innocent
|
| Grindin' so hard you gotta know what I’m thinkin'
|
| Laughin' cuz I’mma kidnap you for the weekend
|
| Now we at the pad about to crack a case
|
| Playin' the couch like Ceasar’s, she feedin' me grapes
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| Not for nuttin' hon, the sex is great
|
| But you know you got to go, I got checks to chase… next
|
| If you’re wit' it grab your friends, follow Joe and me
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| Cuz it’s on, it’s on
|
| Went in and got the Cris' and a pound of weed
|
| It’s on, it’s on
|
| Now mami, let’s get serious, cuz by the looks of it
|
| It seems your sexuality is just a little curious
|
| You got a friend, we could gather then split
|
| If not, I got a girl for every girl I get
|
| There’s a drop in the lot and it whip so fast
|
| We hit the swiss hotel before you finish your glass
|
| And you know you wanna be where the cake is at
|
| Where the pockets just like calories, extra fat
|
| Mami, your body like Malery on Natural Born Killer
|
| She like, they got money but ya’ll are more realer
|
| She wanna roll wit' us, pretty much to crit' us
|
| No beatin' around the bush, just beatin' it 'till you bit us |