Yeah, I got the goodies stashed in the whip,
sweet like peaches on my glossed-up lips.
Trunk go boom when the 808 hits,
boys keep begging but I ain’t gon’ slip.
Petey slide through, cannon on replay,
hands in the sky, let it ride all day.
Ciara lean back, pivot then sway,
goodies stay locked—no key, no play.