|
Verse One: Phife Dawg
|
|
1988 Senior Year, Garvey High
|
Where all the guys were corny but the girls were mad fly
|
Loungin with the Tipster, Coolin with Sha
|
Scopin out the honeys - they know who they are
|
I was the b-ball playin fly rhyme sayin
|
Fly girl gettin but never was I sweatin
|
Cause when it came to honeys I would go on a stroll
|
Until I met my match - her name was Flo
|
Yeah - I messed around with the one called Flo
|
All the troopers round the way used to call her a ho
|
But deep down in my heart I knew that Flo was good to go
|
Cause I thought it was me - like Bell Biv Devoe
|
But little did I know that she was playin' with my mind
|
The only thing I learned is, good girls are hard to find
|
I feel like Heavy D I need somebody for me
|
Not someone who's mind is blank and tryin' to juice me for my bank
|
Swingin' with my main man Lucky behind my back
|
What type of crap is that - yo, hows about a smack?
|
Word life, I can't front - thought I was all that
|
But now it seems, I met my match
|
Was a stone cold lover, you couldn't tell me jack
|
Settlin' down with one girl, wasn't tryin' to hear that
|
I had Tonya, Tamika, Sharon, Karen
|
Tina, Stacy, Julie, Tracy
|
Used ta love 'em, leave 'em, skeeze 'em, tease 'em
|
Find 'em, lose 'em - also abuse 'em
|
My whole attitude was new day, next hon
|
And believe it or not, they all got done
|
Well here comes Flo, with the crazy whip appeal
|
And I'm all true man, like Alexander O'Neal
|
Is this really love, then again, how would I know
|
After all this time tryin' to be a superhoe
|
She finally played me, but yo, I'd find another
|
Cause I got the crazy game and yo, I'm smooth like butter
|
|
Chorus: Q-Tip
|
|
Butter, like butter baby . . . [repeat 2X]
|
Not no Parkay, not no margarine,
|
Strickly butter baby, strictly butter
|
|
Verse Two: Phife Dawg
|
|
I remember when,
|
Girls were goodie two shoes, but now they turned to freaks
|
Allofasudden "We love you Phife" - ease of ho, my name's Malik
|
Phife this, Phife that, where you goin', where you at
|
These girls don't know me from jack, yet I feel like the Mack
|
You didn't want me then, so hon, don't want me now
|
Here, Here - take the towel, wipe off your brow
|
And take the Ccontact out your eye, you're far from lookin' fly
|
You get an E for effort, and T for nice try
|
Now tell me what's the reason, for dyin' your hair
|
Slum village gold still danglin in your ear
|
You barely have a neck but still sportin' a rope
|
Four-finger ring just so Phifer can scope
|
You looked in the mirror, didn't know what to do
|
Yesterday your eyes were brown but today they are blue
|
Your whole appearance is a lie and it could never be true
|
And if you really loved yourself then you would try and be you
|
If your hair and eyes were real, I wouldn't have dissed ya
|
But since it was bought, I had to dismiss ya
|
If you can't achieve it, then why not try and weave it
|
If you can't extend it then you might as well suspend it
|
If you can't braid it, best thing to do is fade it
|
I asked who did your hair and you tell me "Diane made it"
|
If you were you and just you, talk to you, maybe
|
But I can't stand, no bionic lady
|
Tryin' hard to look fly, but yo, you're lookin' dumber
|
If I wanted someone like you I woulda swung with Jamie Summers
|
You wanna be treated right, see Father MC
|
Or check Ralph Tresvant, for sens-a-tiv-i-ty
|
See I am not the one, I got more game than Parker Brothers
|
Phife Dog is on the mic and I'm smooth like Butter . . .
|
|
Ãâó:http://www.lyricspost.com/lp/view.php3?id=1269
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
butter
|
| a tribe called quest |
