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This version of Phat People was released by Childish Gambino in 2009.
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One, two, three, check it out
On the road to sandwiches and chicken wings
Phat people do phat things
Using salt and pepper for their seasonings
Phat people do phat things
Check it out
It’s B to the I to the double L-Y
My friends all know I’m not an ordinary guy
I like little things, like chicken wings
BBQ sauce, honey mustard, onion rings
And when my cell phone rings it goes jingle-jing
I say hello, I say hello, I say who this be?
They say it’s Fancy Ned, I got a fancy head
I’ll eat a fancy ass sandwich on some fancy ass bread
The wait is over, shut up, bend over
I hang with bar stools, I chill with Grover
The boy Ebola, my boy phat too
And my girl so phat that they call her Oprah
I got that green like a bowl of okra
Loose change so phat can’t fit my sofa
I head to the bank, call the shit my grocer
It’s Sex in the City, get the phat mimosa
Me and B, we phat boys, hang with phat girls
Driving phat toys, fuck Dan Aykroyd
I’m live on a Saturday night
I got two phat girls, I’m doing it right
Like my name John Goodman
I got the phat crib so I’m doing real good, man
And I’m up to no good, man
This is how I get phat, call the shit cooking
Phat people do phat things
I tip waitresses, I tip scales
My style is kind of phat like an Orca whale
I’m sipping whole milk as I stare
Thinking I can be your Oprah, you can be my Gail
Cause I am a phat boy, never been to Bally’s
Married to this phat life, call me Kirstie Alley
Married to the snack life, counting every calorie
Might just open up a phat boy art gallery
What else you do, B?
I’ll make it easy
What else you do, B?
For girls to squeeze me
I’m phat but my numbers run
Listen son, I’m a show them how it’s done
When my swagger weighs a ton
Stickin’ straws inside of girls, you can call me the Capri Sun
I make the girls drip, so I guess I eat Gushers
Screaming out yeah like I’m eating out Usher
In your dad’s bedroom where I fuck you
Knockin’ on the door, so you’re screaming out “nothing”
But they all know it’s something
You didn’t think I’d tear the pussy up, did you pumpkin?
But better and better like Benjamin Button
I hang out with Chester Cheeto
Cooler than the ranch on your Dorito
Hotter than the peppers in your burrito
Getting cheddar and cream, if you know what I mean
Yeah, I know what you mean, home girl mistaken
She think Gambino won’t bring home bacon
Or bring home Swiss cheese, my dough got holes
Cause all these hoes want shoes and nice clothes
They want the Macy’s, the Neiman Marcus
The Fendi purses, the Gucci parkas
I know you want it, don’t get me started
They see Gambino and they act retarded
Phat people do phat things
Eat snacks, mother fucker, eat snacks
Eat snacks, mother fucker, eat snacks
Eat snacks coming out of packs
Guaranteed to put a little fat on your back
Eat snacks
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