shorty with the honey mocha skin
funny how i woke agin
thinkin bout you in the end of my dreams

and it would seem that it's too much
for me-when we do touch, the brainwaves rush
and it splits at the seams
------------------

and so we break up every time i wake up
wait till the next night, fade then we make up.
date till it's just right, move for the kiss--
snap back to reality. aint that a bitch!

cuz this
the real world aint fit for the likes of us
you've been bit now twice so you fight the trust
you might adjust to like what my mic discuss
but i dont write to incite a fuss

and in reality we got another side of the equation,
cuz you are you, insteada my interpretation,
and you will do whatever you do, that voodoo so well
OH hell you know i love how you smell

love how you smoke with your cute little coughs
love how you joke with jocks and tell em off
and we're both a little rough around the edges-
maybe we could rub together till we both go soft

--------

shorty with the honey mocha skin
funny how i woke agin
thinkin bout you in the end of my dreams

and it would seem that it's too much
for me when we do touch, the brainwaves rush
and it splits at the seams
so what, you probly wanna keep it simple

n i jus wanna kiss a little bit between your dimples
ya body is your temple -put me on my knees and ill convinceya
thatcha faith is somethin i been gettin inta

--------------
holdup, more than once in a while i go an extra mile just for a smile
the ladies should be linin single file, diamond in a pile a coal
with style and soul
im down to pack a bowl when you aint tryinna roll

imma hold ground, lemme think i hold down anythin
seventh grade homie had a belt to hold the semi in
and i got plenty a clever to keep you entertained
smart girls seem to get wetter when you can enter brains
renter a plane n cross plains sippin champagne pain in the past
amassed fame aint a damn change
and you my main so you remain no matter what this aint a game
i aint the same as every lame you rounded up

fuckin chainsmokin, name jokin, plain open books
or ya vein dopin, fame gropin, game chokin crooks
surrounded by "si"-amigos, (groupies who stroke egos
in the hopes of ridin coattails to get to where we go)