Well, I ain't sweet, sweet, oochie coochie moody
Brown skinned cutie with a big bootie
And two big tootie toots up front, check it
Your butt naked premonitions have been dished
Mr. Me being a ho, has just drifted into the abyss
So we won't twist up like pretzels and set your sights
On a bona fide ho requisites If any of these sentences
Have you confused I'll make it simple just for you check it
No, you can't get my number
No, I'm not going home with you after the jam
Check it out, emphatically no
Time to make your head burst baby, I just met you
How could you expect me to respect you
And lay next to you in the bedroom?
And let you boom, boom, pow, pow with my face down
Just because you think I'm cute?
I got suped boots and all of your pursuits
Have led to the bed so we can go dilla
So we can go loup de lay, I'm not your baby
I don't want, want your pitiful excuse
For a house trained pet, you're just stress and aggravation
Just because you said come over
Don't mean I wanna smell your stinkin' breath, so
No, you can't get my number
No, I'm not going home with you after the jam
Check it out, emphatically no
Listen, mister, you may possess to be in
Yes, we could be friends or perhaps we could go out on a date
Then again, no, 'cuz you get no wins for Salt-N-Pepa
We're more than just a pair of flavored skin grand finale
We're on our way to Cali first class
So miss, I truly wish you would dash
And stop rubbin' up on my buttcheeks, see
No, you can't get my number
No, I'm not going home with you after the jam
Check it out, emphatically no
Hell no, now bust it, yes, I'd like a drink, but I don't think
That you can get me drunk enough to lay with your skunk
On your patch armpits, make me wanna hot spit
Hot spa doohy, groovy guy you're not
Glances at my chest
Freshie, you're lusting for my flesh
Slow like a mole that can't find his hole
Float cousin, the hornets keep buzzin' as I say
Artist: Beatles
Artist: Rotting Christ
Artist: Dakota Staton