Dear Younger Nabob:
Remember back in 1998 when we sat on the grass at the Smoking Grooves tour and watched the Black Eyed Peas play? And dance? And we liked that song Puddles of H20? (And when we rushed the higher priced seats when the Fugees came on?) And before that, when they were the Atban Klann. And Fergie was still on Kids Incorporated? And they were legitimate and (mildly) respected hip-hop artists. Those were fun times.
In a tribute to you, I'm going to bastardize my Outlook signature, just like the BEP did to themselves.
What you 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.
What u gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I’m a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps.
Workity Work Place
The N: As a representitive of the gender, when Fergie speaks of her lady lumps, it gives men the permission to refer to them as the same.
The G: Fergie doesn't speak for shit.