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See it's two type of b*tches in the world |
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You got a broke b*tch, you got a rich b*tch |
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That would explain what I am |
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And what my girl, Missy is |
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We the rich muthaf*ckin' b*tches |
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That's right |
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And then you got a b*tch like me |
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Who just stand above all b*tches |
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That excludes my girl Missy, Mary |
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You know what sayin'? |
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But y'all know what the f*ck I mean |
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I'm the queen b*tch, that's right muthaf*cka, what? |
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Y'all got a problem wit it, come see me |
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A muthaf*cka' ain't takin' my title |
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Or my girl Missy title |
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Or my girl Mary title, what? That's right |
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See only b*tches' like us |
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Is allowed to play a game of chess |
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You see, a real queen needs a king |
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You damn muthaf*ckin' right |
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I don't want a nigga laying up under me |
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That can't do for me |
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What I can't do for my muthaf*ckin' self |
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So when y'all see me in the street? |
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This is what I want y'all to do |
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Fix your lips, put 'em together nicely and say |
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Say it along, say it along now, say |
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"She's a b*tch!" |
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I was walkin' real slow to the dance floor |
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He was lookin' at my ass and I turned him on |
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I seen him talking to his boy on the cellular phone |
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I looked at him and all he could say was |
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"Damn baby, bring it on" |
