|
FXXK Me Pumps |
|
|
|
When you walk in the bar, |
|
And you dressed like a star, |
|
Rockin' your f me pumps. |
|
And the men notice you, |
|
With your Gucci bag crew, |
|
Can't tell who he's lookin' to. |
|
|
|
'Cause you all look the same, |
|
Everyone knows your name, |
|
And that's you whole claim to fame. |
|
Never miss a night, |
|
'Cause your dream in life, |
|
Is to be a footballer's wife. |
|
|
|
You don't like players, |
|
That's what you say-a, |
|
But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire. |
|
You don't like ballers, |
|
They don't do nothing for ya, |
|
But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller. |
|
|
|
You're more than a fan, |
|
Lookin' for a man, |
|
But you end up with one-night-stands. |
|
He could be your whole life, |
|
If you got past one night, |
|
But that part never goes right. |
|
|
|
In the morning you're vexed, |
|
He's onto the next, |
|
And you didn't even get no taste. |
|
Don't be too upset, |
|
If they call you a skank, |
|
'Cause like the news everyday you get pressed. |
|
|
|
You don't like players, |
|
That's what you say-a, |
|
But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire. |
|
Or them big ballers, |
|
Don't do nothing for ya. |
|
But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller |
|
|
|
You can't sit down right, |
|
'Cause you jeans are too tight, |
|
And your lucky its ladies night. |
|
With your big empty purse, |
|
Every week it gets worse, |
|
At least your breasts cost more than hers. |
|
|
|
So you did Miami, |
|
'Cause you got there for free, |
|
But somehow you missed the plane. |
|
You did too much E, |
|
Met somebody, |
|
And spent the night getting cane. |
|
|
|
Without girls like you, |
|
There'd be no fun, |
|
We'd go to the club and not see anyone. |
|
Without girls like you, |
|
There's no nightlife, |
|
All those men just go home to their wives. |
|
|
|
Don't be mad at me, |
|
'Cause you're pushing thirty, |
|
And your old tricks no longer work. |
|
You should have known from the jump, |
|
That you always get dumped, |
|
So dust off your fuck me pumps. |
