[Male Spoken Intro] (piercing high synth beeps: beep-beep, beep... repeating for four bars) Ayy, turn them headlights down. (Yeah) Pink flip in her palm, cream drop at the curb— CRUMP just walked in, n*gga, hide your b*tch. (Ha!) This that face-card felony. Let her stunt. [Female Chorus] That ass in this dress got the whole club tense (tense) Waist so small, make the back look immense (damn) Gloss on my lips, new money in my purse (mwah) He said I’m trouble, baby, tell him it get worse (worse) Walk through the spot, every lens on cue (click-click) Cherry-red bag and the whip brand new (skrrt) Whole damn city wanna get in my heaven (yeah) Face card lethal, I feel like Rihanna in 2007 (seven) [Female Verse 1] Pink Razr ringing, I let it sing twice (nah) Dime-piece dimensions, but the attitude ice Apple Bottom denim, Baby Phat on the tag B*tches throw shade, I throw cash in the bag MySpace page pretty, top-eight full of threats He got a million compliments, I got a million in checks Body got curves like a Motorola keypad One look at the back, make a hater’s face mad P*ssy good, I don’t let just any n*gga lick her Need clean hands, good manners, big figures to get with her He said, “Damn, you bad”—baby, damn right, repeat it I make a grown man stutter then spend it if he mean it Got the club on mute when I walk past the booth New money in my purse, old-money poise in my tooth He a p*ssy-ass poser with an Ed Hardy story I’m a front-page flash, he a footnote boring B*tch, I’m a Blockbuster, he a bootleg screen I’m the reason every door got a bouncer in between CRUMP! [Female Chorus] That ass in this dress got the whole club tense (tense) Waist so small, make the back look immense (damn) Gloss on my lips, new money in my purse (mwah) He said I’m trouble, baby, tell him it get worse (worse) Walk through the spot, every lens on cue (click-click) Cherry-red bag and the whip brand new (skrrt) Whole damn city wanna get in my heaven (yeah) Face card lethal, I feel like Rihanna in 2007 (seven) [Female Verse 2] BlackBerry buzzing, but I’m booked, b*tch, busy He want a taste, but the menu ain’t for every n*gga tipsy My pussy good, private gate, no cheap admission Make a n*gga sweat through a fresh white tee with permission I don’t chase d*ck, I make d*ck chase a deadline He bring one rose, I bring ten reasons to decline Prada-purse pressure, posture-perfect presence Lip-gloss lethal, legs like a love-letter I’m Paris-with-the-flash, but the bill got bigger He got a MySpace mouth and an Instagram figure Talk slick, but his card do a backflip fail I’m a cherry-red whip; he a bus-stop tale I make the b*tches study, then they copy my grammar I make the n*ggas spend, then they call it bad manners Tongue-twisting, trend-setting, ten-toe temptation I’m the ringtone hit, he the voicemail waiting 2007 shine with a 2026 ledger Best ass in the section? B*tch, write it in red, sir [Female Chorus] That ass in this dress got the whole club tense (tense) Waist so small, make the back look immense (damn) Gloss on my lips, new money in my purse (mwah) He said I’m trouble, baby, tell him it get worse (worse) Walk through the spot, every lens on cue (click-click) Cherry-red bag and the whip brand new (skrrt) Whole damn city wanna get in my heaven (yeah) Face card lethal, I feel like Rihanna in 2007 (seven) [Female Outro] CRUMP. (Ha!) (piercing synth beep pattern returns, then cuts clean) Pink flip closed, conversation clipped. Phone on silent, my fee too high for nonsense. 2007 in the mirror, 2026 in my ledger. (Yeah)
