| and he is, as they say, wild and crazy
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| As a composer, arranger, and producer
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| He’s exploring it all
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| From the furthest reaches of musical outer space
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| To the most down to earth funk
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| And he sounds, well, he sounds exactly like this
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| Nobody 'members those
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| Rap City episodes from twenty years ago
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| When you were the guest host
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| Past history, let it go Get off on a medical
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| Pack a duffle bag with all your wrinkled clothes and pedal home
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| Get a little dictaphone and sit alone
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| In the middle of the room and let it flow
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| Wouldn’t it be better
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| If you went and chose a new career path
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| Like a shepherd or a flight attendant on an aircraft?
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| You’re pitiful, a pollywog
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| Tiny fishy in a smaller pond
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| Holding barbie dolls and leftover beads from the Mardi Gras
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| Actin hella hard but that’s just poppycock
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| 'Cause inside you’re hella soft like a Jolly Rancher lollypop
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| I’ll give you cauliflower ears stupid
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| You’re weird
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| Feelin blue
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| On a stool somewhere, two-fisting beers
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| At a Hofbrau
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| Moaning like a hot cow
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| Cryin on the shoulder of some old man you met just now
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| I’m smarter than you
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| I’m harder than you
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| I’m better than you
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| I’m just raw
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| I’m hotter than you
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| More popular than you
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| More clever than you
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| And goshdarn it, people like me
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| I’m smarter than you
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| I’m harder than you
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| I’m better than you
|
| I’m just raw
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| I’m hotter than you
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| More popular than you
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| More clever than you
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| And goshdarn it, people like me Look I’m sorry, mate
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| This is awkward, k?
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| Little hard to say
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| So I’ll just say it Me and your mommy date
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| She’s awfully great
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| She’s a soft seatmate (?)
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| She calls me late
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| Always wants to meet
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| On her coffee breaks
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| She bought me seats
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| To Bonnie Raitt
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| Now there’s no concrete date
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| But she bought the ring
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| It’s Marjorie May (?)
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| And my stockings stink
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| From my foot up in your ass
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| 'Cause you drive me absolutely batty
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| See I’m crabby when you get around me Tell me who’s your daddy
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| Call me Mister McAffee, your poop-deck pappy
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| Shut your trap and get back in the backseat of the Camry
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| Don’t sass me or I’ll backhand you
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| smack you with an axe-handle
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| Burn you with a wax candle
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| Slap you with a sandle
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| I’m trying to watch the rap channel
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| Can’t you tell we laugh about you?
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| Call yourself a rapper but I gives a rat’s ass about you
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| Why do I even bother with these Hoff-brand cats
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| Y’all are wombats man
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| I’m bout to blow this pop stand
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| Lyrically y’all don’t compare to me in any contest
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| Like a stealth bomber up against a Hyundai Accent
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| Tall-can to a shot glass
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| Bong-hit to a contact
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| Gary Coleman versus Big Boss Man
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| The Loch Ness Monster up against a crawdad
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| Talking Sly Stallone in Rocky versus Sly Stallone in Copland
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| Judge Judy versus Johnny Cohcran
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| Oh man
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| Nell Carter versus Karen Carpenter topless
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| Better yet, Broadband
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| Compared to a long ass
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| Piece of string connecting two pop cans
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| It’s all bad
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| Don’t quit your job at all believe me you’ll be so glad back
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| Hold on with both hands
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| It’s sucks washing sauce pans
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| I know there’s an off chance that one day hip-hop heads
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| Will maybe feel rappers in the top-ten that crossdress
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| Ever since his triumphant return from his first album, L.T.D.
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| Critics are calling (Lyrics Born) the brightest new star in years
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| (Same Shit, Different Day) is his new album, on his own label
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| And it’s got the kind of top talent (Lyrics Born) always surrounds himself with
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| Here’s a sample of what they’re raving about |