I'm gettin' tired of your shit
You don't never buy me nothin'
See, every time we go somewhere
You got to bring James, John, Paul, & Tyrone
See why can't we be by ourselves sometimes
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 you don't know how to act
So matter of fact
I think you'd better call Tyrone (call him)
And tell him come on,
Help you get your shit (Come on, come on, come on)
You'd better call Tyrone (call him)
But you can't use my phone
Now every time I ask you for a little cash
You say no, just turn around, ask me for some ass
Well hold up, listen partner
I am no cheap thrill
Cause Miss Badu is always comin' for real
You know the deal
Every time we go somewhere
I gotta reach down in my purse
To pay your way and your homeboys' way
And sometimes your cousin's way
They don't ever have to pay
Don't have no cars
Hang around in bars
Try to hang around with stars
Like Badu
I'm gonna tell you the truth
You'd better call Tyrone (call him)
And tell him come on,
Help you get your shit (Come on, come on, come on)
You'd better call, call, call Tyrone (call him)
But you can't use my phone
Ooh, I think you'd better call, call, call Tyrone (call him)
Tell him come on, come on (Come on, come on, come on)
You'd better call, call Tyrone (call him)
But you can't use my phone

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