I'ma test this out right quick on y'all
Now keep in mind I'm an artist and I'm sensitivie about my shit
So y'all be nice about it, alright
Sisters how y'all feel, brothers y'all alright
Let me see how y'all groove to thisAlright, I'm gettin' tired of your shit
You don't never buy me nothin'See every time you come around
You got to bring Jim, James, Paul, and TyroneSee why can't we be by ourselves, sometimes
See I've been having this on my mind for a long time
I just want it to be, you and me, like It used to be, Baby
But ya don't know how to actSo matter of fact, I think ya better call Tyrone (call him)
And Tell him come on, help you get your shit (come on, come on, come on)
You need to call Tyrone (call him)
And tell him I said come onNow everytime I ask you for a little cash
You say no and turn right around and ask me for some ass
Oh, Well hold up, listen partna, I ain't no cheap thrill
Cause Miss Badu is always comin' for real you know the deal, niggaEvery time we go somewhere, I gotta reach down in my purse
To pay your way and your homeboys way and sometimes your cousin's wayThey don't never have to pay, don't have no cars
Hang around in bars try to hang around with stars
Like Badu, I'ma tell you the truth
Showing groove or get the bootI think ya better (call him)
And tell him come on, help you get your shitYou need to call Tyrone (call him)
Hold on but ya can't use my phone
Songwriters
ERICA WRIGHT, NORMAN HURTPublished by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.