When I was a little girl playing pretend with all my little friends
All we ever wanted to be was a flyy girl.
She was the prettiest girl on the block with a pretty skin tone,
Long hair in some funky layered Pageboy,
Rocking bamboo earrings and a gold name chain.
She wore designer acid wash jeans, high top sneakers
Reebok classics of course
Or leather knee-high boots.
Cloaked in a leather jacket or a sheepskin fur coat.
Her boyfriend dressed like a b-boy with the illest gold chain,
Name brand sweat suits and the
Flyest kicks was his claim to fame.
If he was really flyy, he was pushing one of those tricked out
Japanese cars with neon lights, a booming sound system and flashy rims.
And if she was really, really flyy,
The flyy girl was pushing her own whip.
The pretty and smart flyy goals went to school in the city
They worked part time and wanted their own money
They had dreams and goals of their own
And the boys jocked them so they were never alone.
There were some flyy girls who dated the d-boys
He was young and fresh and had the most money on the block
But it never took long for the gifts and free rides to stop
If she had a baby or he went away to jail
It was a story I saw over and over again
That never did end well.
Times have moved on and the fashions have changed.
But the flyy girl spirit has always remained.
We see glimpses of her out on the runway
In print and on the small screen.
Some call her ghetto or ghetto-fabulous
Call her what you want,
But she’s still a flyy black queen.
8 July 2018