Well I concur in fur, prefer the flying spur to petty tight per Persian rug burns, the yearns to make funds turn Crib in the city one in the suburbs When chilly really the gloves work My artillery make a thug smirk, pull a snub first with the thirst Burst on the right arm perch, trying earn the purse to purchase the earth Work and serve been ? since my son's birth The Thunderbird come with the skirt Not to be tampered with, b**h kiss the hand of the philanthropist My private dancer drank Panther Piss I rock the tan Stan Smiths Wearing amethyst and dance with my Spanish b**h She tryna land a man that's rich, doing splits The rooms moonlit, I crooned in the unit Therapeutic, my muse through a tulip Juicy deep rooted, the prostitutes are recruited Pea-pod suited (From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable, unfold the scroll)x4