U Talkin' To Me

Your cut-off denim, they're faded right,
You got your hips so low they keep your booty tight.
Your costume jewellery, your Guccis on,
Your shit is stashed and imitation Louis Vuitton.

Hey, you talkin to me? That's right I'm talkin to you,
Just come on over, won't you be my baby?
Hey, you talkin to me? You know I'm talkin to you,
Just come on over, won't you be my baby?

She ain't too classy, but she's the bomb,
Underneath the Burberry she's got shit she's workin on, on, on.
She Miss Demeanour with eighties hair,
Yeah she my lady and she don't wear underwear, oh.

Chorus

She's so rock-steady, she not comin home tonight,
Daddy's money pays for all her good times.
She's built straight late up, her friend Cherie on the line,
She's sex-o-matic, ooh, that's right. One, two, three, four.

She's kinda freak, freak, freak, freak, freak,
She's kinda shy, the kinda girl that won't think twice bout tellin lies.
She keeps her boots on, when we're in bed,
She likes to watch me when she's down givin me, ow.

Chorus x 2

She's so rock steady, she not comin home tonight,
Daddy's money pays for all her good times.
She's built straight late up, her friend Cherie on the line,
She's sex-o-matic, hooh, that's right!

Chorus x 2