| You got that, you got that, you got that milk money
|
| I got that, I got that, I got that dilf money
|
| You got that, you got that, you got that milk money
|
| I got that, I got that, I got that dilf money
|
| The mumma’s see me comma
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| From a hundred mile away
|
| Drop my kid at school
|
| Then I start my dad day
|
| Coffee and a croissant at my favey cafe
|
| Changin' all the halogens, wifey not a fan of 'em
|
| Slot it, twist it, yay!
|
| Filling up the car with diesel
|
| Because it gets 'ya more mileage for your money
|
| You daddy fucker
|
| You got that, you got that, you got that milk money
|
| I got that, I got that, I got that dilf money
|
| Me and the dads drilling the walls
|
| Putting up shelves, scratching our balls
|
| Flippin' the meats, novelty apron
|
| Drinking some prune for my constipation
|
| I been working all week, now where the hell is my drink?
|
| Girls should be in the kitchen pouring milk on their tits
|
| Got the gladiator sandals, socks underneath
|
| Pair them crisp jean shorts, with an armless fleece
|
| Got these particular shades, and a lanyard strap
|
| And a belt clip phone how fucking boss is that?
|
| Don’t gotta stay thin, with your shirt tucked in
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| And your trousers pulled up under your chin
|
| We’re the raddiest, baddiest, fattiest, nastiest
|
| Daddiest dads that there’s ever been
|
| Now watch us do the dad dance
|
| You got that, you got that, you got that milk money
|
| I got that, I got that, I got that dilf money
|
| You got that, you got that, you got that milk money
|
| I got that dilf money
|
| You daddy fucker |