behold a lady.

a real woman is a lady in the streets, and leaks in her sheets.
you don't doubt her sexual prowess. you don't ask her questions until its over.
you just let her do her thing.
when you finish, you only ask her how the hell she got that great.
not that you truly want to know, you just want to put an emphasis on how good she was
without bending your ego to fit.
but its damn good.
and she got you thinking abt wife-ing her just off that one performance.
you know, like young chris said:
"i think i might wife her. you know, powder blue roc-a-wear suit, white nike her."
but instead, you let her speak for herself.
cause when you think you know her, you don't.
and you're not mad when she shows you the door,
cause she's gotta work in the morning, and you'll keep her up all night.
and it takes sleep to keep that beauty up.
a lady in the street, but she leaks in her sheets.
let you tell it, and it's all your fault.
but let her tell it, and it's all her fault.
you think you make her leak, but that's her that makes her skeet.
she knows herself, inside and out.
don't let her demure attitude fool you, she knows how good she is.
all that bending, twisting, and gyrating, she doesn't do it just for you.
she does it for her
because she gets off on getting you off,
and getting herself off gets you off.
so it works out for everyone.
just tell her how good it is, so you can stroke her big ego.
and then she can stroke you... and your ego.
she can stroke it better, bc you you always get it wetter.
and the curve of your... let's just say it fits perfectly in her...
and you love it. so does she.
so you're not opposed when she shows you the door, bc she has to work in the morning.
as soon as she gets home, you're welcome back
to do it all over again.
because she's a lady in the streets,
and leaks in her sheets.
and she's just happy you're there to witness it.