| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Dense like dying stars
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| I can’t run real far
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| Let me break down what I just said
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| Each of my double D’s has the volume of a toddler’s head
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| Not bitchin' 'bout my boobies, they look super fly in shirts
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| But if I swung them in your face, you’d be like
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| «Oh my God, that hurts!
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| I’m blind! |
| Holy crap! |
| I literally can’t see!
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| I’ve permanent retinal damage!
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| I’m suing you and your heavy boobies!»
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| Heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Dense like dying stars
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| They each have their own memoirs
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| What you gotta know is that boobs may be where it’s at
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| But if you cut them open, they’re just sacks of yellow fat
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| Stuff falls into my bra, it’s a little bit of a drag
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| But when I go to bed at night
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| It’s like opening a Mary Poppins bag
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| Whee! |
| Candies and pennies!
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Dense like dying stars
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Don’t need an airbag in my car
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| Here is a list of all of the objects
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| That I can hold under my boobs:
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| Stapler, ten pencils, paperback copy of Arabian Nights
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| Dog bone, remote control, hardback copy of Wuthering Heights
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| (spoken)
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| See, when a star is dying, it transforms into a red giant, and if the red giant
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| does not have enough mass to fuse carbon, an inert mass of carbon and oxygen
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| builds up in the center, transforming into a dense white dwarf. |
| And yeah, like,
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| that’s my boobs. |
| That’s, that’s what my boobs are like.
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Dense like a white dwarf
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| It’d be a catch at Fisherman’s Wharf
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| I got them heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Don’t ever forget
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| That these heavy boobs, heavy boobs
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| Are just sacks of yellow fat
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| Like the stuffing of a couch
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| They’re just sacks of yellow fat
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| Technically meant to feed a baby
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| They’re just sacks of yellow fat |