P-I-M-P

I don't know what you heard about me

But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me

No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see

That I'm a motherfucking P-I-M-P

 

[Verse 1]

Now shorty, she in the club, she dancing for dollars

She got a thing for that Gucci, that Fendi, that Prada

That BCBG, Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana

She feed them foolish fantasies, they pay her cause they want her

I spit a little G, man, and my game got her

A hour later have that ass up in the Ramada

Them trick niggas in her ear saying they think about her

I got the bitch by the bar trying to get a drink up out her

She like my style, she like my smile, she like the way I talk

She from the country, think she like me cause I'm from New York

I ain't that nigga trying to holla cause I want some head

I'm that nigga trying to holla cause I want some bread

I could care less how she perform when she in the bed

Bitch, hit that track, catch a date, and come and pay the kid

Look baby this is simple, you can't see

You fucking with me, you fucking with a P-I-M-P