You hear talk about Pep around the way gettin’ skeezed
(Yo, me and my man was with Pepa last night, yo…) Nigga, please
You couldn’t hump me if my first name was Cooty Cat
Your little jimmy can’t even hold your zipper back
Why don’t you tell the story right, man?
The only skins you ever hit was the skins on your right hand
You rolled up on me in your man’s Beemer
And I could look at you and tell you was a meat-beatin’ daydreamer
You put the window down tryin’ to act real slick
And started smilin’ like a hooker with a bag of tricks
You stuck your hand out the window trying to show me gold
Your forty-second street Rolex was kinda old
I wrote a number, and I know you thought you’d get humped
But it was Dial-A-Date 1-900-CHUMP
So why you runnin’ around town playin’ Jeopardy?
Get off my bra-strap, boy, stop sweatin’ me
Somebody’s gettin’ on my nerves
Somebody’s gettin’ on my nerves
Somebody’s gettin’ on my nerves
Forget that you’re a lady, and give ’em what they deserve
:twisted: :twisted: 8)