You need a future daddy
Give me my peter pan
When I hit the club it’ll be me and my conceited friend
Been signing autographs
Since like a quarter past
I’m in the hallway, don’t need no hall pass
If I eat it then everybody gonna order that
Everything I do these bitches wishing they’da thought of that
I’m a Indian giver I want the quarter back
If hip hop was dead, bitch I just brought her back
Take it to the off
I’ma take it take it off
I’ma take it to the club
Then we take it to the loft
I’ma take it to my niggas, I’ma take it to the boss
I’ma jiggle it jiggle it
Baking soda soft
I’ma put it in ya face, I’ma put it in ya braids
The way I make it pop, you can put me in the space
Make it rain as a ten thousand dollar day
Popping like champaign on a holiday