| I don’t believe this!
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| I get rid of those two evil maniacs who try to ruin my show
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| And I get two evil GUESTS who are trying to ruin my show
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| FEH! |
| Just who came up with the stupid idea
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| Of giving Space Ghost a talk show in the first place?
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| How they gave his own show to Tad Ghostal?
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| Any given second he could go mad postal
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| Stay wavin' that power band space cannon
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| And have the nerve to jump in the face of Race Bannon
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| And punked out; |
| luckily he deaded it
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| And guess who’s the schmuck who’s credited with editing it?
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| Your man Moltar, the cop out
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| Ain’t have no other career choice, he dropped out
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| Since when the Way-Outs included Zorak
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| Way back he used to rub his thorax in Borax (hahahahah)
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| I’m not the one that sold him to it
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| If he won’t admit it, I’m not gonna hold him to it
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| It’s all love and no hate though
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| For all that, the Villain need to get his own late show
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| Do a monologue and jest with the guests
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| Madlib, switch the beat and walk him to the desk
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| With Danger holding down the control room
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| Late again returning from commercial — I told you DOOM!
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| Early, he’s on B.P.T
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| Catch him on public access free TV
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| And we’re back, live on the air with Brak («hey!»)
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| So Brak, how your man got a show that’s so whack? |
| («What?»)
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| Have you ever thought to work with Err and Ignignokt an' them?
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| And do you got enough oxygen from this toxic phlegm?
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| Another sec', his neck woulda got flames
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| Mouse switched the screen to some hot dames
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| Tonight’s audience will receive miscreant videogames
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| And fifteen seconds of fame, pitiful aims
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| It’s just a shame; |
| I’m zonin'
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| Competin' for the same prime time slot as Conan
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| No dummy, Edogawa
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| Announcement free lunch to any stunt who lets me plow her
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| In the shower for an hour, the kids 'sposed to be asleep
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| Or else to join it sound like Road Runner — BEEP BEEP!
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| Later this week, Big Ben Klingon
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| After him there’s no one else we could afford to bring on
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| Keep it ghetto
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| And let 'em know, B.Y.O.B. |
| from the get go
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| (*Ahem*) I’d like to propose a toast
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| To the grossest host, Space Ho’s Coast to Coast
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| That destructo ray’s a played out gag
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| And the cape and the pants suit, lookin like a straight out
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| Dag! |
| Don’t mean to sound crunchy
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| Hit a honey from the back and crumpled up her scrunchie
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| A light snack, hungry munchy
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| Felt a funny hunch then she told him donkey punch me
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| Tomorrow it’s Father Guido Sarducci
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| Father MC, and Charo «Coochie Coochie»
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| With her new best seller, «Who You Call a Hoochie?»
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| A proud sponsor of the snoochie boochie noochies
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| Look Leela eyeball to eyeballs
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| And find out how to get inside them sugar pie walls
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| Our next guest a real cutey specimen
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| And she’s startin to get a little booty, Miss Judy Jetson
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| So Judy; |
| boxers, briefs or fig leaf?
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| As you know I wear my boxers so my big
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| Cue the rapper tell him bring what little he got
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| Up against the Villy, it’s really not diddly-squat
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| Until they head hurts — when it come to wreck
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| Crews is like them dudes in red shirts off Star Trek
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| He Kirk, he Spock, he McCoy
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| Been b-boy, since you jerks first squeezed toys
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| Born to be the host with the most
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| When it’s on it’s on, Space Ho’s Coast to Coast
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| You think I’m just gonna hand over my show to you, DOOM?
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| Have you lost your mind?
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| Listen; |
| I’m not gonna hand my show over to you
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| You know why? |
| Because, it’s my show
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| Mine, not yours — Space Ghost
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| It ain’t «DOOM Coast to Coast»
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| Yeah, yeah sure, here are the keys to the show
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| Why don’t you drive for a while?
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| Yeah America’s cravin some DOOM, here you go |