Pocketbook (Feat. Ludacris)
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Say it again? Oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Check this out here!
Looking at my body
I bet you thinkin' bout it
Don't cha wanna know
How I get down
(Uh huh)
Take a number, baby
You ain't the only brother
Trying to get up
Under my skirt now
(Uh huh)
Rockin all your hot shit
Stuntin'
Thinking
That your god's gift
To woman
More like a buzz in my ear
Shoo, fly, don't bother me
I got my hair in a pony tail
And by all mean
Trust me I can get it off
They say I stride like a model
Curves like a bottle
Watch me as I hit the wall
And I make em' say
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Da da da da
Don't make me (oh)
Tell ya, baby daddy
He ain't holding away
Cause he got to pay
And no tonight
Ain't nobody cutting
So cut it out
Cut it out, alright
So you don't know
My face now, got it
Looking at me
From the waste down
Stop it
Said I'm hot pill
To swallow, fella
But I can make you
Feel better
I got my hair
In a pony tail
And by all mean
Trust me
I can get it off
They say I stride
Like a model
Curves like a bottle
Watch me
As I hit the wall
And I make em' say, hey
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook,
Oh hey
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my, uh
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Oh ah, oh ah, oh
Hey, hey, get it ya'll
Said you got
A lot of nerve
(Lot of nerve)
Playing
With my feelings, boy
Do you always speak
Before you think?
(Do you gotta? Ah ah)
Lucky me
I know the game
I'mma flip my hair
And walk away
If you follow me
Its on and poppin'
Cause I think ya
Can have the pocket
(Luda!)
Before ya make me, oh!
Ludacris:
Before I make you too wet
Girl, you know you want it
Your body's nice, but, eh
You need some Luda on it
So find a matress
So we can start jerkin on it
Movin' on it
Baby, cause tonight's the night
For you to rock up on the mic
Cause I rocks the mic (right)
It's Chris mind freak
In the back of a rolls
I know magic, proof
And do away with ya clothes
Then come here and let Luda
Give that body a rub
Cause, damn, little mama
You thick as a muth
Just how them
Southern boys, like it
Hurry up
And get me some punch
I might spike it
Party in my babsen
Yes, your invited
So we can make a wet scene
And we can win an oscar
All up in your best dream
Girl I think you know
You're driving me crazy
They jingling, baby
Go 'head baby!
With two hams
In your pants, girl
I think you's a crook
Let me touch
Whats under that
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
Don't make me hit you
With my pocketbook
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