I’m made of sugar and spice and all things nice
Forgive me for my wrongs when I’m not right
I’m intimate and entertainment
Entertainment and intimate
Private and public
Public, private
I go by my mood and strategize with the climate
I’m highly sophisticated
Yet down to earth; soul natural, never fabricated
Love the 1967 convertible Mustang; with the peanut butter interiorAnd candy red paint
Yet somehow intrigued with the BMW 750
For its foreign features are sleek and meek
Turned on by Wall Street, love the idea of trading stocks and commodities
Got to make enough money to keep a diverse portfolio filled with a variety of ladies
I buy customized, with a classic tailor fit
When I’m doing my executive type shit
But other than that I’m Polo, cargos, and flip flops
Gel ink, notebook, and lap top
On weekends found snuggled up in a oversized chair,
Sipping mocha at your local coffee shop
Composing poetic soundtracks for every sista who walk pass that’s hot
And if she’s super bad I’m stopping her on the spot
Complementing her on how she move like the hands on a clock
Appreciating that ass on how it ticks and tocks
But of course coming off more indigenous
Selecting a finer grade of words that speaks more intuitive
Then tap into her intelligence by pouring her a glass of fine language
See if she could appreciate the finer things
Share with her a bottle of aged Swahili
She digs the way it flows off my tongue, sincerely
She does not understand a word I’m saying, but she’s feeling me
And I don’t ask for the digits
I just hand her my business card to keep in contact with me
Then I’m back to the oversized chair
Writing poetry
For its foreign features are sleek and meek
Turned on by Wall Street, love the idea of trading stocks and commodities
Got to make enough money to keep a diverse portfolio filled with a variety of ladies
I buy customized, with a classic tailor fit
When I’m doing my executive type shit
But other than that I’m Polo, cargos, and flip flops
Gel ink, notebook, and lap top
On weekends found snuggled up in a oversized chair,
Sipping mocha at your local coffee shop
Composing poetic soundtracks for every sista who walk pass that’s hot
And if she’s super bad I’m stopping her on the spot
Complementing her on how she move like the hands on a clock
Appreciating that ass on how it ticks and tocks
But of course coming off more indigenous
Selecting a finer grade of words that speaks more intuitive
Then tap into her intelligence by pouring her a glass of fine language
See if she could appreciate the finer things
Share with her a bottle of aged Swahili
She digs the way it flows off my tongue, sincerely
She does not understand a word I’m saying, but she’s feeling me
And I don’t ask for the digits
I just hand her my business card to keep in contact with me
Then I’m back to the oversized chair
Writing poetry
