| She say she wanna get up on that rapper shit
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| Popping bottles stuffing money under mattresses
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| She been on that tour bus since I picked her up at Hammersmith
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| Her arse so round I thought it had to be a camera trick
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| Eh, where you going in them Izzy Marants?
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| Hop on a plane come and chill with me and Dizzee in France
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| Hop on a train you can come to any city you want
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| I got the fame you could be on Nicole Bitchie tomorrow
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| Couldn’t never love a lippy yat
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| But she got me acting like a pussy for that kitty cat
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| Reverse cow girl, reverse piggy back
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| I thought you said your arse was mine, come and gimme that!
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| Witch doctor woman
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| She said she wanna get in on that rapper shit
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| She wanna polish the awards up in my cabinet
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| She a ten, she defy the law of averages
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| Thought she Catholic but that Rihanna tat in Arabic
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| Where you going in that pretty Givenchi Dress
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| I’ll intro you to Westwood buy you Vivienne’s garms
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| The alcohol that she ingests just hope her liver ain’t harmed
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| I bring her flowers but she says she want a stickier plant
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| From trips on a bus now she’s on a trip and a buzz
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| When lighting strikes wonder if God is taking pictures of us
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| We finally made it on our own through all the hicks and the cups
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| Maybe some magic came and cured this fucking sickness in us
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| Keep it running
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| From not giving a fuck
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| Now she’s in her giving a fuck
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| I made her feel like Lewis Hamilton was picking her up
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| Don’t even mind the other groupies and the strippers and stuff
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| No time to waste might as well face it you’re addicted to love
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| 'cause I am sick
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| What you prescribing
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| Give me a fix
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| Sip on a cocktail of lots of shit we shouldn’t mix
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| Yeaah |