Blak Puddin'

(Shh) boy, be quiet! Follow me and tiptoe
Don't wanna make too much noise, sneakin'-in yo' window
So pull-down the shades, 'cause my neighbors are kinda nosy
Comfy, cozy, now off with the clothes, y—
Can I get a witness? Body like fitness
Baby, we can do it, take your time, do it right
Mm, lick my belly button, whisper sweet-nothings—
In my ear, to put my hormones in gear
Now, mama's little baby loves toast and jam
Melts in ya' mouth but not in ya' hands (black puddin')
Separate the boys from the men
You can knock all day, Jehovah, but you can't get in
Maybe you can get a scoop, if you're really all o' that
And you can leave ya' fake fingernails in my back
Now, I may not be a lady, but I'm surely all woman
So check it: The proof is in the puddin' (hey)

Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick?
(What?) Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick?
(What?) Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick?
I wanna get a taste of yo' pudding

Must be Jell-O, 'cause puddin' don't jiggle like that
Yeah, ain't that a fact?

Pull-out yo' spoon and let's begin the mixin'
Always in the bedroom, never in the kickity-kitchen
You can get busy with your head beneath the blanket
Flip it, spank it, gettin' buck-naked
'Cause women in the '90s want more from a brotha
Than a part-time lova' who's whack undercover
So, brothas, do your duty when it comes to the bedroom
(Don't let him eat the puddin' if he ain't got the headroom!)

So dip-dip-dive if you wanna be a diver
Sport the helmet with a light, like an old gold miner
No need to taste-test, the puddin's always fresh
So, brothas, wear a bib if you're gonna make a mess

Can I get my spoon in? (No way!)
Yo, can I get my spoon in? (No way!)
Yo, can I get my spoon in? (No way!)
I'd really pay you Tuesday for some puddin' today

Now, I eats more puddin' than old folks play bingo (play bingo)
Parker Lewis can't lose in Santo Domingo (Domingo)
What about Atlanta? (Atlanta)
Shoots more gift than Santa (than Santa)
On Saturday night, I'm liver than Roseanne, Roseanna-Dana
So, holy moly, a bearhug couldn't hold me
Play ring-around-the-rosie in Beverly Hills with Axel Foley
Jumpin' Jiminy, I express nativity
Here I come, here I come, like Santa, down the chimney
Girls think I'm neat, oh, they're grabbin' my torpedo
I get frantic, like the Pink Panther swattin' a mosquito
Duh-dun, duh-dun, I guess it's 'cause I'm handsome
So give the finger to Orville Redenbacher and his grandson

Oh, uh (hey)
Oh, uh
Oh, uh
Oh, uh (hey)
Oh, uh
Oh, uh

Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick?
(What?) Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick?
(What?) Can I get a lick? Can I get a lick, girl?
I wanna get a taste of yo' puddin'

Proof is in the puddin', so come get a taste
I know that you love it from the smile on your face
Up and down like a slinky, let's get kinky
The cream in the middle of a Twinkie
'Cause I like my men cocked, diesel
And if you're unleaded, then, n gga, just forget it
You can't rub my back or kiss my neck, either
With your sniffy, sneezy, coughy, achy, stuffy head fever
Undercover lover, in-between the sheets
As the bedspring creaks as I rips-up the beat
'Cause brothas love the puddin' like Lucy loves Ricky
Joanie loves Chachi, or Mickey loves Minnie
But I hate gettin' hickies on my neck in the summer
'Cause wearing a turtleneck is a bummer

I heats-up the mic till your blood pressure rises
It ain't the kind of puddin' Bill Cosby advertises
Pull out yo' spoon and let us begin
But if you front on the puddin', you might not get your spoon in