Look under his floorboards Mama
I don't trust his silly grin
He's got a beat-up Rambler
Nebraska plates,
and I ain't getting in
I don't like the way
his pinky ring
picks up the dashboard light
or his short
little piggy fingers
or the way his belt
is cinched too tight
Check under his floorboards Mama
I don't like his suggestive tone
The way his words drip
from his mouth
as he asks can I take you home?
I don't care
how many miles I got
I think I'd rather
walk them alone
than to sit in the back seat
as his eyes in the mirror
reduce me to flesh and bone
Check under his floorboards Mama
'cause that razor's
not just a threat to me
He'll be slicing tiny crescents
from your heart,
without laying a sweaty palm
to your cheek
Don't accuse me
of running scared
listen to what I'm saying
It's a fucked up ol' world
but this ol' girl Well
she ain't giving in
my niggas
just bust yo' tech for me
Everybody from every hood
bang yo' head
'til you break yo' motherfuckin
neck for me!
Just let me give
you real street shit
to rap in yo' shit with
We clap yo' seat
we whyle this heat
Keep bouncin up
and down these streets
So nod yo' head and
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Bang yo' head until you start to
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck!