Show em what ya gotnShow em what ya gotnSh-Show em what ya gotn Hey yo show em what ya gotnCuz shit is gettin hotnShow em what you gotnCuz shit is gettin hotnHey yo show em what you gotnCuz shit is gettin hotnShow em what you got...nSomebody's getting on my nerves (x4)nShow em what you gotnSomebody's getting on my nerves (x3)nForget that you're a lady and give em what they deservenNow I got this real phat attitude because of all the hypenJealous-ass rappers broke as hell trying to play me on the micnSo test my respect, mess around, yeah, bitch, jump up and get beat downnNow Salt shorty, light-skinned, sexy, and your man knownI got him screamin' like a hooker in the front rownSo you better check my record, better yet, bumnMy name is super for a record, check my platinum albumnIt's not meant for you to donYou even sound wack when you try to check the mic (one, two, one, two)nBut wait I'm not through, how you livin' sayin' old rhymes tryin' to get new?nYou don't work like the two to make hip hopnSo you can talk until your big suckin lips popnThe next time you try to play me you might catch a fist to the nose, honSo there you gonnYou hear talk about Pep around the way gettin' skeezedn(Yo, me and my man was with Pepa last night, yo...) Nigga pleasenYou couldn't hump me if my first name was Cooty CatnYour little jimmy can't even hold your zipper backnWhy don't you tell the story right, man?nThe only skins you ever hit was the skins on your right handnYou rolled up on me in your man's BeemernAnd I could look at you and tell you was a meat-beatin' daydreamernYou put the window down tryin' to act real slicknAnd started smilin like a hooker with a bag of tricksnYou stuck your hand out the window trying to show me goldnYour forty-second street Rolex was kinda oldnI wrote a number, and I know you thought you'd get humpednBut it was Dial-A-Date 1 900 CHUMPnSo why you runnin round town playin Jeopardy?nGet off my bra strap, boy, stop sweatin' menSomebody's gettin on my nervesnSomebody's gettin on my nervesnSomebody's gettin on my nervesnForget that you're a lady, and give em what they deservenGive em what they deservenGive em what they deservenGive em what they deservenForget that you're a lady, and give em what they deservenNow somebody's gettin on my nerves, and I'm wrecked to get crazynIt never fails to amaze menHow people never miss a posset and just believe the gossipnInstead of finding out the truth of what's upnIt's got my nostrils flairin'nI'd be a fool if I believe half of the dumb shit I be hearingnCuz every time I meet a guy that's got it goin' onnOne of my jealous girlfriends gotta find something that's wrongnIf he's not drivin' a Benz or Beemer then he's bummynOr he's sellin' buddah if he's got plenty of moneynNow ask me why, I don't know why or well or what the hellnSo breakin' up the code because I'm someone's ??nI've got enough problems of my ownnTo sit up on the phone talkin' about on who he's gettin' bonennn