| What is it we wanna doooo.
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| now that I’m allowed to be alone with you?
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| Bir-thday girl, it’s your birthday
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| Wherever you wanna go
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| Now you’re old enough to go and see the «R"-rated show, now
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| «R"-rated show
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| Yo, she said she was a magazine editor named, Janine
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| Backstage in high-heels and painted-on, jeans
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| Probably had the most, devious eyes I’d ever sene
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| Told me she was twenty-two, she was only seventeen
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| She had sum’hin to hide she snuck in from out-side
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| and got, everybody gassed like the car I, drive
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| With all that grown-lady ass and my far-out, vibe
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| She said she came to see them Roots boys +Fall-Out+ live, but listen…
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| You see the girls look good, but they brains not ready
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| I talk to a woman, her mind is mo', steady
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| Probably sum’hin in the way they designed, that’s mo' steady
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| I just let you inside 'cause the line so, heavy
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| But I shoulda know, better 'cause now I feel like America’s
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| underbelly R. Kelly gutter smut peddlers
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| Internet predators, chat-room irregulars
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| This not my twist, you tryna send me to the therapist, miss
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| Now, she told me cheddar cheese grits, two tomato fried fish
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| 'Cause she heard it’s my dish, tryna be my sidekick
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| All the people all around thinkin she was my chick
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| Sayin, «Damn, the girl thick, but she ain’t no twenty-six»
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| Lookin at me like I’m up to sum’him on the funny tip
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| Like I ever really been the one to try the honey drip
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| It’s your birthday so let me know the gift you wanna get
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| In fact, blow out the candles on the cake and make a wish for me
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| They can’t really seem to look away
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| so they try, asking her to stay
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| Fake I.D., you won’t get turned away!
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| You look, lovely toniiiight…
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| Now you’re old enough to buy a gun
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| So many better ways of having fun
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| Right now I can only think of one…
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| You look lovely toniiiight… |