| I’m bad broad, still mad gods be actin' like the word one backwards
|
| They actors
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| Marlon Brandos, so if you mad coals, then brand yours, big baller
|
| Ice-T status, not discrete
|
| Instead of that sneak mode madness
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| Accessible strictly through cell phones, chattin'
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| Make it known, you wanna bone? |
| You’re not alone
|
| We grown folk, like Tone Loc
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| Your tone low
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| When askin' what’s happenin'
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| While babymama’s goin' spastic
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| You’re full of havoc
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| Drama, but no pull like elastic in old pajamas
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| I’m a goner
|
| Tried to stay, but you hit and run like Tonka games
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| What a shame, so lame
|
| Full of excuses, just put it plain, the truth is …
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Anyway. |
| Anyway.»
|
| «Every time I talk to this dude he think I don’t know what’s goin' on with baby
|
| mama drama. |
| Shit I’m a mama too, I know what’s the word, kid, if it’s just
|
| about sex, then you know, we could do that. |
| Playing games and whatnot,
|
| I don’t even got the time for this shit anymore, man. |
| Done. |
| Your homeboy or
|
| something must be grimy as fuck, anyway son»
|
| Anyway you tell it, hey forget it, come on son
|
| You straight pathetic, save a debt and get Jon Lovitz
|
| Yeah, yeah … that’s the ticket to catch a trick
|
| It’s like, yeah yeah, catch a kick in your derriere
|
| Then it’s still there, maybe you’re pathological
|
| Crazy, the bastard hardly knows, hey, see that be horrible
|
| With everything that you say, you’re a deceiver who
|
| When at the end of the day, you believe in you
|
| Complete madness, modern day Pinocchio
|
| Probably great for pokin' low on some Humpty Dance
|
| With the 69 ticklin', shit, be like dickin' it
|
| Other than your slut it’s damaged and wild sick of it
|
| So leave the art of storytelling for Slick Rick
|
| I see you on the floor be yellin' the blip-blip
|
| Please stop still frontin', why’d you hit me?
|
| He popped steel cause your style was shifty
|
| So yeah, I told you buddy, and you can doubt, yeah
|
| But the truth is out there, don’t let it mold your scully
|
| On some X-Files reruns, ex-style, he’s done
|
| Should have took a next route, see son?
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Anyway. |
| Anyway.»
|
| «Hey yo, you know homeboy? |
| Word he was tellin' me he got this and that.
|
| With labels. |
| Like yo, where you work? |
| He’s like, yo I work at Def Jam. |
| Word?
|
| That’s what’s up. |
| Like boom, boom. |
| Yo let me lay you with some stuff.
|
| Then my man come to tell me, like yo, homeboy work in the cafeteria.
|
| Like what you gon' do? |
| You gonna hit Jay-Z with a joint, while, you know,
|
| givin' him salad?»
|
| Being caught so many times in a lie
|
| Plenty tries to deny
|
| Each story two size to provide
|
| Cross fingers, cross my heart and hope to die
|
| Hit by lightning from the sky may strike any time I reply
|
| Can’t say nothin' nice for the life of you
|
| Lyin' isn’t right but in the right situations, it’s polite to do
|
| Like when it’s your wife and you, it’s slightly true
|
| When you say, «you lost weight, you look good
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| And that dress lookin' nice on you»
|
| But let me spin it after you been in it and split it
|
| The wife fibbin' that you handlin' your business but didn’t
|
| Won’t admit it: two minutes and you finished
|
| She biggin' you up to the man
|
| But her hands make her climb to the limit
|
| Now dig it
|
| The truth: easier leaving it out
|
| Like when you’re five minutes away but you’re just leaving your house
|
| And the basis is need-to-know
|
| Just wrote this
|
| I lied to Breeze and told him that I had this verse ready a week ago
|
| Let’s keep it low
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Somebody release me!»
|
| «Anyway. |
| Anyway.»
|
| Nah I’m saying, you look good in that dress right there. |
| It’s tight!
|
| No I don’t mean tight like small on you, I mean like tight «look good»
|
| you know what I’m sayin'? |
| Why don’t you wear something like flats or something,
|
| make you look, you know, more smaller. |
| I mean TALLER. |
| Know what I’m saying?
|
| I mean, what does it matter what I think anyway, it’s about what you think.
|
| Know what I mean?
|
| (scratched)
|
| (scratched) |