Total - No One Else 1996

Pokaż cały tekst [Foxy Brown]
Brown nigga, uh, chromed out six and shit
Bubblin' layin' up with them Colombians
Oh fuck no, I get this doe, Fox Brown Mama
Jig suits from Gabbanna
True, balla nigga who you callin'
Papa we be flashin', sex lastin', all night long, it's strong
The mattress, Ill Na Na, like Benihana steaks
The boogie like a fresh pair of snakes
Italian, Fox Brown the don, Gucci on
Stylin, sip Crystal on the Cayman Islands
Uh, got gay niggas ready to switch, like Ravano
Turn that mob nigga to snitch, true player to don
From Veneddinni, five carats on the arm, jew-els be the bomb
The four hotties, Total and Foxy, sip us some martinis
Bad girl of the year 96, Pam Grier, uh!

[Chorus:]
I don't need, no one but you, ooh ooh ooh
I don't need no one
I don't need, no one but you, yooouuuu, oh oh oh oh oh

[Lil' Kim]
Many people tell me my style is terriffic
Stupendous, tremendous, I bend just a little bit more
Than the average whore, cause I'm focused
I rock Versace lamps and saucers
You didn't know I like crack-adile boots and gator suits
The biggest willies, got to fill me, huh
I like the hot wheels, you got a fast car
Like Tracy Chapman you can cruise with this rap star
The mink sporter, the heroin importer, I be that rich bitch
Stack banks by the chips, check it
I spot hits like Spud Mackenzie, I'm Leona Hemsley
Taxes is gettin' axes
It's essential for the presidential, certified testicals
Get sprayed forty decibles, the king and I
All you need in this world, I'm a bad girl
The high pitch Queen Bitch

[Chorus]

[Da Brat]
Once again I'm all you need with the caramel skin
Fat lucious lickable lips in a jet black bitch
Stackin' ends fulfillin' dreams makin' life complete
Come take a journey with this funkdefied bitch that can't be beat
Once, twice, second time around for me
Three times more than the lady you'd imagined it be
I been, re-enstated, platinum plated and niggas hated
Relay it that I'm the shit, twelve lookes and a pit
Get hot like a chili pepper, flee for me
You got the blunt give it away to the B-R uh A-T
And check my M3, think I know everything will P-I-she
And you can't keep up with this heffer from the west side streets
I'm talkin mad money, acting funny with all the phonies
Keepin it real with homies who been real with me
It would defeat the purpose for me not to flash my rocks
Cash, count all his cheques, invest stocks and bonds
Sippin on Don

[Chorus]