There was this Animorphs book where one of the kids asks her parents for permission to buy the new Fudgies and Nice is Neat CDs. That has as much relation to the Fugees as this song, and also its target demographic was probably born after they disbanded.

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Katherine St Asaph: Mendler, a non-entity unless Lemonade Mouth or Good Luck Charlie mean something to you, introduces herself with a single nominally about an everygirl getting a BMOC boyfriend but really about a Disney girl getting a crossover hit: “Ready or not, here I come… do you like my song? My name is Bridgit….” Bridgit, like everyone, is quite the magpie, collecting pop-culture references both musical (the Fugees’ “Ready or Not,” with which this shares a title and melody) and verbal (William and Kate, Oprah, BFF-SMS colloquialisms like “I like your face”), tricking out her vocal with splayed vibrato and affected patois and voicemail spoken-word, dropping out whenever words fail the hook. The sunny competence’s all the better to find you, and you and you and you. Me, I’m more taken with those 2000s record skips. 
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Will Adams: “I like your face; do you like my song?” is now my new pickup line.
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Jonathan Bogart: I don’t know that I’m particularly interested in making Mendler a test case for the utter whitewashing of pop — though, eighteen years after the Fugees (and forty-four years after the Delfonics), this nasal white teenager singing in imitation Caribbean raises all kinds of alarm bells — not least because the half-hearted island soul here is at least as infectious as the half-hearted electro-rock of Selena Gomez or the half-hearted dramatic anthems of Demi Lovato.
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Iain Mew: Her relentless effervescence could be an asset in a different song, but it would need more distinguishing hooks or better lines.
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Patrick St. Michel: Over the course of “Ready Or Not,” Bridgit Mendler likens herself to a crook, a bee, a matchstick and Kate Middleton. She also could be some guy’s Kryptonite and imagines a potential relationship as a boat cruise. She and her producers should have spent their time on the Fugees-aping bounce.
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Anthony Easton: The rapping interlude of this is just so fucking ludicrous, but the height of the absurdity is Oprah rhyming with Boca. The rest of it is jarring, unable to decide which version of Teen Disney star she wants to present, but the Oprah line just sinks it. 
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Alfred Soto: The rap part is the kind of silly indulgence that I’d expect from a young woman of Mendler’s age, so I indulged her. The unsubtle nod towards the Fugees song also has an adolescent quality: it’s like when you catch a sibling humming “Lady Madonna” without her knowing who sang it originally.
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Brad Shoup: Your prototypical pop rushjob: from the first-draft lyric details (bees don’t search for honey, they make it) to the botched production (when she says her name, she does so from a safety deposit box) to the generous portions of ham (she sounds British, does she not?), strung around a readily-available memory. Just think, though: if they’d taken any more time, they’d have ruined it.
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