Some songs don’t just play—they flirt with you, instantly making you feel like you’re the hottest bitch in the room. Like, your hips start moving before your brain even clocks the beat. That’s what Fly Girl by Tim Johnson Jr. did to me. The second that bassline slid in, I was back in crop tops, high-waisted jeans, hoop earrings big enough to catch signals from space, and lip gloss sticky enough to trap a man’s attention and his dignity. It’s got that 90s R&B pop swagger—like En Vogue met Chris Brown at a Janet Jackson afterparty and brought tequila. It’s sexy, it’s playful, it’s so damn addictive and it’s giving major Fly Girl energy, in the OG, In Living Color sense. You know—J.Lo in spandex, poppin’ and locking like her life depended on it while men with high-top fades drooled from the sidelines. That kind of fly girl. The one who runs the room, owns her body, and doesn’t ask for permission.
Now let me tell you how I first heard it—because this one has a twist.
I was getting a Brazillian wax. Yep. Legs up, heart pounding, praying to the goddess of smooth skin and cheap numbing cream. Summer is coming up, you know! And the girl doing it—Yvonne—she always plays a bomb playlist. This time, it was the early 2000s mixed with fresh finds. Suddenly, this track hits. I’m mid-wince, and I hear: “Fly girl, you’re all mine girl, 9 to 5, overtime…” and I literally froze mid-pain. I looked at her like, “Wait, who is this?” And Yvonne, bless her, doesn’t even pause—just goes, “Girl, that’s Tim Johnson Jr. You’re welcome.” I left that appointment smoother and sexier. And immediately added it to my “Pre-Game + Post-Drama” playlist.
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This track is a straight-up feel-good fantasy. It’s a glittery, slick production, giving you a dance-pop high without a single drop of pretense. It’s nostalgic but polished—like someone gave 90s R&B a glass of rosé, a good therapist, and a fresh lineup.
And get this—Tim’s been in the game since he was a child. He literally played Young Simba in The Lion King in Vegas at ten years old. He’s a multi-instrumentalist (piano, guitar, drums… banjo? WTF?!) who’s been writing and recording music since age eight. I barely knew how to braid my hair at eight. He even made it to the semifinals on The Four: Battle for Stardom, and it shows—this boy doesn’t just sing, he performs. You can hear the theater kid confidence wrapped in a bedroom R&B croon, and I am so here for it.
The lyrics? This boy knows how to hype a girl up. “Let me say it, let it ring, for the people in the back / Little Miss thing, turning heads, whiplash.” Ummm yes, babe. That’s me walking into the club in snakeskin boots, pretending I didn’t just cry over my ex five hours ago. And don’t even get me started on “Switch it up, clockwise, now you got me in a trance.” That’s the moment you make eye contact with someone across the dance floor, and suddenly, you’re dancing like you actually have rhythm and not three tequila shots sloshing in your stomach.
What I love is how the whole song builds around this celebration of a woman who isn’t trying to be fly—she just is. He’s not chasing her. He’s keeping up. She’s already in her zone, “dancing on Saturn rings and vibing.” That part? I felt it in my glittery soul. Because when I’m on, baby, I’m outer space fly. No gravity, just vibes.
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Even the bridge has this smooth, sensual tension. “Show me you love me, show me you care, show me you can take it higher, yeah.” It’s giving “prove you deserve this” energy. It’s giving I am the prize. It’s giving Amber on a rooftop bar in heels too high to run from bad decisions, sipping champagne, and deciding who gets my attention tonight.
Fly Girl is the kind of track you put on when you need a reminder that you are that bitch. Whether you’re strutting into a party, dancing in your underwear, or laying face-down on your bed thinking about a man you shouldn’t text… this song hits.
Tim Johnson Jr., if you’re reading this, thank you for the serotonin. And call me.
