"I don't know if you can make it! To the kitchen, go and bake it! Put on a sweater, you will catch a cold! Why are you looking at me so bold? When I’m with you, all I get is... WILD THOUGHTS!"
Mr. Okoro tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. He’d heard Titi play this song a thousand times. He liked the guitar—it reminded him of Carlos Santana, the music of his youth. But the lyrics? The lyrics were a problem.
"I am thinking... about your school fees! I am thinking... did you wash the plates? You are out here dancing like a small breeze, while your math grade is in a terrible state! Wah-wah-wah... wild thoughts!" "I don't know if you can make it
"Jet skis? In this economy? You want to go to Miami? Have you finished the yam in the pantry? You say you're 'flexing,' I say you are stressing my blood pressure! If I see you with a boy, he must have a Master's degree or I will call the police!"
He leaned into the camera for the chorus, his face a mask of dramatic intensity. Why are you looking at me so bold
"I don't know if you could take it!" he sang, pointing a stern finger at the camera. "Know you wanna see me n-n-naked!" He stopped, horrified. "God forbid! No!" He restarted.
He even attempted the Bryson Tiller verse, but instead of smooth vocals, he went into a full "Dad Rant" flow. Okoro tapped his thumb on the steering wheel
"Get in the car, Titi. I have just saved the music industry."