| masta flash |
10-17-2003 05:35 PM |
so you wonder why they call me masta flash
I may look like a flaming white trash dooshbag but i can bust some funky rhymes
In the year 2000 i see thousands of pretty young women I find arousin
Grocery store shopping, magazine browsin', many different ways they keep their hair styles and
Full of boredom, I walk toward 'em, get 'em close to me cause I'm supposed to be
Male aggressor, female impresser. Say the right things, possibly undress her.
But that's the post game, this is still the pre - game.
Silly woman She - game. Baby, what's your name?
Even though I'm a freak, I play it off like a college geek, crack a smile and politely speak
With intellect to the woman I select, hoping that she won't detect
My egotistical chauvinistical lust I thrust 'til I scream like Mystical.
The wrong message I hope I'm not sending. Laughing and pretending my dick's not extending.
Can't be overzealous, she might discover. She's walkin' away, (Biatch!) blew my cover.
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