What It Feels Like for a Girl Songtext

von Madonna

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Der Songtext "What It Feels Like for a Girl" von Madonna drückt die Gefühle und Erfahrungen aus, die Mädchen in der heut...

GOT UR SELF A .....
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Woke up this morning
Got yourself yourself yourself
Got yourself yourself

Yo I'm livin in this time behind enemy lines

Chorus
So, I got mine I hope ya got yourself yourself
Ya from the hood I hope ya got yourself yourself
You want beef hope ya got yourself yourself
An when I see ya I'ma take what I want so
You try to front hope ya got yourself yourself
You ain't real hope ya got yourself yourself

Verse 1
My first album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome- I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional level
What would you question who's better
The world is still mine
Tattoos real with gods son across the belly
The balls of rap, You saw me in BELLY with thoughts like that
Then take it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same struggle
You lace the huddle, you came shook
Ya'll feel the wrath of a killer
Cause this is my football field
Throwin passes from a barrell
Show the path to peril
But the QB don't stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed off blast, cause ya'll are all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to haul ya'll a** in
This is for the hood, by the corner store
Many try many die, come at Nas if you want a war
Get it Bloody

Chorus

Verse 2
I'm the N the A to the SIR
And if I wasn't I musta been ESCOBAR
Ya know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
Hair parted with the barbers preciseness
Bravehearted for life
It's the return of the golden child
Son of a blues player
So who are you player
Ya'll waited to the truth save ya
Puffin that tropico, cups of that vodka too
Poppin juice
Tore up, wake up in the hospital
Throw up never
Remember I did this through righteous steps
You judas thought I was gone
So in light of my death ya'll been all happy go lucky
Bunch of sand hoes
Call me gods son, with my pants low, I don't die slow
Put them rags up like Petey Pablo
This is Nasdaq dough in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the beat back, not a soul reppin
Hit the recrod store, never let me go
Get my whole collection

Chorus

Verse 3
It's the return of the Prince, The Boss
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft
Sip Kris, get chicks, wrist glitz I floss
Stick shift, look sick up in that boxster porche
With the top cut off
Rich kids go an cop the source
They don't know about the blocks I'm on
And everybody wanna know where the kid go
Where he rest at, Where he shop at and dress at
Know he got dough
Where does he live? Is he still in the bridge?
Does he really know how ill that he is?
Got all of ya'll watchin my moves while watchin my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that
It's not only my jewels, I ice anything
Plenty chains, look at my tennis shoes I iced that
Who am I
The back twister, lingerie ripper, automatic leg spreader
Quicker brain getter
Keepin it gangster with ya

Chorus