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Verse one：phife dawg |
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1988 senior year, garvey high |
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Where all the guys were corny but the girls were mad fly |
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Loungin with the tipster, coolin with sha |
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Scopin out the honeys - they know who they are |
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I was the b-ball playin fly rhyme sayin |
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Fly girl gettin but never was i sweatin |
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Cause when it came to honeys i would go on a stroll |
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Until i met my match - her name was flo |
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Yeah - i messed around with the one called flo |
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All the troopers round the way used to call her a ho |
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But deep down in my heart i knew that flo was good to go |
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Cause i thought it was me - like bell biv devoe |
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But little did i know that she was playin' with my mind |
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The only thing i learned is, good girls are hard to find |
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I feel like heavy d i need somebody for me |
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Not someone who's mind is blank and tryin' to juice me for my bank |
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Swingin' with my main man lucky behind my back |
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What type of crap is that - yo, hows about a smack? |
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Word life, i can't front - thought i was all that |
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But now it seems, i met my match |
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Was a stone cold lover, you couldn't tell me jack |
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Settlin' down with one girl, wasn't tryin' to hear that |
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I had tonya, tamika, sharon, karen |
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Tina, stacy, julie, tracy |
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Used ta love 'em, leave 'em, skeeze 'em, tease 'em |
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Find 'em, lose 'em - also abuse 'em |
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My whole attitude was new day, next hon |
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And believe it or not, they all got done |
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Well here comes flo, with the crazy whip appeal |
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And i'm all true man, like alexander o'neal |
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Is this really love, then again, how would i know |
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After all this time tryin' to be a superhoe |
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She finally played me, but yo, i'd find another |
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Cause i got the crazy game and yo, i'm smooth like butter |
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Chorus: q-tip |
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Butter, like butter baby . . . |
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Not no parkay, not no margarine, |
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Strickly butter baby, strictly butter |
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Verse two: phife dawg |
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I remember when, |
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Girls were goodie two shoes, but now they turned to freaks |
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Allofasudden "we love you phife" - ease of ho, my name's malik |
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Phife this, phife that, where you goin', where you at |
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These girls don't know me from jack, yet i feel like the mack |
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You didn't want me then, so hon, don't want me now |
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Here, here - take the towel, wipe off your brow |
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And take the ccontact out your eye, you're far from lookin' fly |
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You get an e for effort, and t for nice try |
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Now tell me what's the reason, for dyin' your hair |
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Slum village gold still danglin in your ear |
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You barely have a neck but still sportin' a rope |
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Four-finger ring just so phifer can scope |
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You looked in the mirror, didn't know what to do |
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Yesterday your eyes were brown but today they are blue |
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Your whole appearance is a lie and it could never be true |
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And if you really loved yourself then you would try and be you |
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If your hair and eyes were real, i wouldn't have dissed ya |
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But since it was bought, i had to dismiss ya |
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If you can't achieve it, then why not try and weave it |
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If you can't extend it then you might as well suspend it |
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If you can't braid it, best thing to do is fade it |
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I asked who did your hair and you tell me "diane made it" |
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If you were you and just you, talk to you, maybe |
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But i can't stand, no bionic lady |
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Tryin' hard to look fly, but yo, you're lookin' dumber |
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If i wanted someone like you i woulda swung with jamie summers |
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You wanna be treated right, see father mc |
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Or check ralph tresvant, for sens-a-tiv-i-ty |
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See i am not the one, i got more game than parker brothers |
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Phife dog is on the mic and i'm smooth like butter . . . |
