Оригинален текст
You need a future daddy
Give me my petter pan
When I hit the club it will be me an 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 wishin 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'm a take it take it off
I'm a take it to the club
Then I'm a take it to the log
I'm a take it to my niggas, I'm a take it to the boss
I'm a giggle it giggle it
Bakin soda soft
I'm a put it in ya face, I'm a pt 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
Poppin like champaign on a holiday
