Verse one: phife dawg1988 senior year, garvey highWhere all the guys were corny but the girls were mad flyLoungin with the tipster, coolin with shaScopin out the honeys – they know who they areI was the b-ball playin fly rhyme sayinFly girl gettin but never was I sweatinCause when it came to honeys I would go on a strollUntil I met my match – her name was floYeah – I messed around with the one called floAll the troopers round the way used to call her a hoBut deep down in my heart I knew that flo was good to goCause I thought it was me – like bell biv devoeBut little did I know that she was playin’ with my mindThe only thing I learned is, good girls are hard to findI feel like heavy d I need somebody for meNot someone who’s mind is blank and tryin’ to juice me for my bankSwingin’ with my main man lucky behind my backWhat type of crap is that – yo, hows about a smack? Word life, I can’t front – thought I was all thatBut now it seems, I met my matchWas a stone cold lover, you couldn’t tell me jackSettlin’ down with one girl, wasn’t tryin’ to hear thatI had tonya, tamika, sharon, karenTina, stacy, julie, tracyUsed ta love ’em, leave ’em, skeeze ’em, tease ’emFind ’em, lose ’em – also abuse ’emMy whole attitude was new day, next honAnd believe it or not, they all got doneWell here comes flo, with the crazy whip appealAnd I’m all true man, like alexander o’nealIs this really love, then again, how would I knowAfter all this time tryin’ to be a superhoeShe finally played me, but yo, I’d find anotherCause I got the crazy game and yo, I’m smooth like butterChorus: q-tipButter, like butter baby . . . [repeat 2x]Not no parkay, not no margarine,Strickly butter baby, strictly butterVerse two: phife dawgI remember when,Girls were goodie two shoes, but now they turned to freaksAllofasudden we love you phife – ease of ho, my name’s malikPhife this, phife that, where you goin’, where you atThese girls don’t know me from jack, yet I feel like the mackYou didn’t want me then, so hon, don’t want me nowHere, here – take the towel, wipe off your browAnd take the ccontact out your eye, you’re far from lookin’ flyYou get an e for effort, and t for nice tryNow tell me what’s the reason, for dyin’ your hairSlum village gold still danglin in your earYou barely have a neck but still sportin’ a ropeFour-finger ring just so phifer can scopeYou looked in the mirror, didn’t know what to doYesterday your eyes were brown but today they are blueYour whole appearance is a lie and it could never be trueAnd if you really loved yourself then you would try and be youIf your hair and eyes were real, I wouldn’t have dissed yaBut since it was bought, I had to dismiss yaIf you can’t achieve it, then why not try and weave itIf you can’t extend it then you might as well suspend itIf you can’t braid it, best thing to do is fade itI asked who did your hair and you tell me diane made itIf you were you and just you, talk to you, maybeBut I can’t stand, no bionic ladyTryin’ hard to look fly, but yo, you’re lookin’ dumberIf I wanted someone like you I woulda swung with jamie summersYou wanna be treated right, see father mcOr check ralph tresvant, for sens-a-tiv-i-tySee I am not the one, I got more game than parker brothersPhife dog is on the mic and I’m smooth like butter . . .