Big Poppa Mindless Self Indulgence

To all the ladies in the place with style and grace
Allow me to lace lyrical douches in your bushes
Who rock grooves and make moves with all the mommies?
The back of the club, sipping Moet is where you'll find me

The back of the club, macking hoes, my crew's behind me
Mad question asking, blunt passing, music blasting
But I just can't quit because one of these honies
Biggie's got to creep with, sleep with, keep the E.P. a secret
Why blow up my spot 'cause we both got hot?

I got more Mack than Craig and in the bed
Believe me, sweetie, I got enough to feed the needy
No need to be greedy, I got mad friends with Benz's
C-notes by the layers, true fucking players

Jump in the Rover and come over
I got chronic, I got chronic
I got, I got, I got, I got, I got
I got my chronic

I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if you are a true player
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
To all the honies getting money playing niggas like dummies