Written By Wajeeh ul Hassan.
Ayo, women, it’s time.
It’s time, women (aight, women, begin).
Straight out the hot dungeons of rap.
The rod drops deep as does my towel.
I never talk, ’cause to talk is the mate of howl.
Beyond the walls of melons, life is defined.
I think of love when I’m in a New York state of mind.
Hope the scowl got some fowl.
My owl don’t like no dirty howl.
Run up to the prowl and get the foul.
In a New York state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The ugly rod?
You complain about dirty dishes.
I gotta love it though – somebody still speaks for the odd.
I’m rappin’ to the apple,
And I’m gonna move your grapple.
Moist, wet, sexy, like a map
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a snap.
I can’t take the dirty dishes, can’t take the soap.
I woulda tried to shoot I guess I got no hope.
I’m rappin’ to the grapple,
And I’m gonna move your apple.
Yea, yaz, in a New York state of mind.
When I was young my mate had a facade.
I waz kicked out without no broad.
I never thought I’d see that fraud.
Ain’t a soul alive that could take my mate’s pod.
A stupid angel is quite the angell.
Thinking of love. Yaz, thinking of love (love).
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De quoi paraître tout beau tout neuf. www.cialispascherfr24.com En référence au chic anglais, la chaise médaillon emprunte au vestiaire masculin un élégant tissu écossais.