Nasty dog, off the leash, collar poppin’ chrome,
Sniffin’ every curve, got that triple-X tone.
I bark bass lines, bite beats, leave paw prints on your throne—
Call the pound, girl, I’m still gnawin’ in your zone.
Tail waggin’ wicked, tongue slangin’ slick,
Fetch that funk, bury it deep, make that subwoofer lick.
I’m the freak you keep secret, the howl under your sheet—
Roll over, play dead, then wake the whole damn street.