| Me and my clique
|
| Run thur the gutter breakin down shutter
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| As the beat goes, dun dun dun duna
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| Ain’t nothing better than these favorite buttas
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| It’s like freakin wit your lova tryin bust his rubba
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| Have him have him undercover like he thought he never
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| How the hell a bitch like me become so celva
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| Yall wack MC’s, yall never never
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| Talkin hard as a cock but is light as a feather
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| Yall suspect hoe’s yall suspect hoe’s
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| Takin off your clothe yall reject hoe’s
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| Fell the rhythm, I’m bout to kill em Missy (Timbaland)
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| Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, easy
|
| (Nigga, Slap! Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, easy)
|
| Yall lil'
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| Tryin act bigga don’t yall get the picture
|
| Every freakin year I come wit something sicka
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| Fan’s takin flick’s wanna get my picture
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| Freak’s only speak? |
| Do you know Jigga?
|
| Strange muthafucka’s wanna be my nigga
|
| Turn your man to a ass-licker
|
| Cheatin ass men means, cheatin as men
|
| Time to stop gamin and stay the fuck in Fell the rhythm, I’m bout to kill em Missy (Timbaland)
|
| Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, pronto
|
| (I said, Slap! Slap!Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, pronto)
|
| You don’t wanna get smacked right quick
|
| Wit a upper cut like this
|
| I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like this
|
| Still get paid to bust the right shit
|
| Still get paid to hope on the dick
|
| I’m a prostitute, I gotta a lot of loot
|
| But if you knock the boots, but at lease cop the coup
|
| What I’m post to do, starve for you
|
| This ain’t ??, I can’t crawl for you
|
| That’s impossible
|
| I make the rule
|
| I pay the dues
|
| I wear the pants
|
| Bought the shoes, they Prada too
|
| Fuck wit me you lose
|
| Step to me and get brused
|
| Your chances are not few, they none
|
| So what I’m bitchy
|
| Roll a phat blunt wit Missy
|
| In the front wit me Tim hit AHH, wit the bang to the boggada beat
|
| Burnin em wit the heat
|
| It don’t conser me, when nigga talk shit
|
| They just wanna learn me When they see me, I permentaly
|
| Damage they shit internally
|
| And Slap! |
| Slap!
|
| Slap! |
| em right across the melon
|
| Nigga, Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, easy
|
| I’m the M-S-J-A-D-E
|
| Toes and lows, bling like I’m B.G.
|
| I don’t know nigga help, shit, I write my own
|
| Just gimme a beat and a muthafuckin microphone
|
| Picture this shit me Missy and Timbaland
|
| We bout to take it to the streets, but they chicken ran
|
| Oh Shit, It’s gettin kinda hot in here
|
| Oh Shit, Make niggas stop and stare
|
| Talk dirty, rock-a-bye a birdy
|
| Smack the shit out the Clyde
|
| Cause Bonnie should have pay me Get old heads for they checks that sign right
|
| And I get lil’boys for they doe on prom night
|
| Cause I do my thing, knots in a pocket
|
| Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| All up in your knogen, early
|
| I said, Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| All up in your knogen
|
| Nigga, Slap! |
| Slap!Slap!
|
| Right across your melon, easy |