Lyrics : William Adams/David Payton
Music : William Adams/David Payton
Whatcha gon' do with
Whatcha gon' do with
Whatcha gon' do with all that junk
Junk
Whatcha gon' do with all that junk
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk
Get you love drunk off my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps
Check it out
I drive these brothers crazy
I do it on the daily
They treat me really nicely
They buy me all these iceys
Dolce & Gabbana
Fendi and that Donna
Karan they be sharin'
All their money got me wearing fly
Gear but I ain't askin'
They say they love my ass in
Seven Jeans, True Religion
I say no but they keep givin'
So I keep on takin'
And no I ain't taken
We can keep on datin'
Now keep on demonstratin'
My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps
My hump, my hump, my hump
My humps they got you
My humps they got you
My humps they got you
Spending all your money on me
Spending all your money on me
On-on me, on me
On-on me, on me
On-on me, on me
Whatcha gon' do with all that junk
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk
Get you love drunk off my hump
Whatcha gon' do with all that ass
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'ma make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream
'Cause of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps
Check it out
My hump, my hump, my hump
You can look but you can't touch it
If you touch it, touch it
Touch it, touch it,
Touch it touch it
Whatcha gon' do with