Aye, yo, Butch, it's hotter than fish grease outside, my boy That means it's sundress and sandal season But some of these shorties is nastier than jail food You know the hoes I'm talking 'bout The ones to be flying to Miami on Spirit with a buddy pass And they be five-deep piled up in one room at a LaQuinta Inn Them hoes don't be having nothing except for an ID and iPhone charger But they done been to every brunch from Buffalo to Beverly Hills All summer, making sure they get a flick in front of that grass wall Every ninety degree night has shorty in the club Lace front, smelling like hookah smoke and Newports And had it in so long, starting to look like a Tyler Perry wig, that's nasty work She then came to the club with nothing but fifteen bucks And they tags still on that Fashion Nova fit Hoping them Griselda nigga pull her into this section So she could take a boomerang of Benny to make her baby dad mad Look, we still got six weeks 'til fall And Mr. Power X-Man done told you already Everybody can't go, but don't worry 'Cause Summertime Butch is coming, nigga