| Once upon a time there was a little boy
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| who lived in the deep, dark jungles of Africa
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| His name was Little Sambo
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| (*mumbling*)
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| Uh-oh, ZL’s X-ercising his right to be hostile…
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| They always — they always try to say that coon is me for some reason
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| I don’t understand, man
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| You don’t understand?!
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| No, I don’t know
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| My temper tempers up to like tenward
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| Switched up with thoughts that I recommend
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| My nest is flood but thicker is blood
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| Plus still some stay stud like sticks in the mud
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| Ibuprofen from (?) keep me from flippin’daily
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| Yet I constantly slip into thinkin’kinda loony
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| In my logo you see us?
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| Whoever said that coon was me?
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| OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Oh…
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| OH NO!
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| Holy smokes! |
| I see it’s a joke
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| To make a mockery of the original folks
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| Okay, joke’s over, but still it cloaks over us With no luck from no clover
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| This, irritates X, so goes into my text
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| Tolerates one N-word complex
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| Subroc, etched the fuzz of what once was
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| In eighty-deca the joke’s on Cuz
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| Those on top of my head stand seven thick
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| Hairs that even if I wanted to I couldn’t pick
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| Pigment, is this a defect in birth?
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| Or more an example of the richness on Earth?
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| Lips and eyes dominant traits of our race
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| Does not take up 95 percent of one’s face
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| But still I see
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| In the back two or three
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| Ignorant punks pointing at me OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Oh…
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| OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Yo, I begs your pardon
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| But have you ever seen this brother walkin’around here anywhere?
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| That must be missing person
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| Have you ever saw his face on a milk carton?
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| Tricky tricky, must be part of the Gas Face series
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| The same one who started black cat bad luck theories
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| Yeah, he done it, this place, he runs it And I’m guilty, Alcatraz till four hundred
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| Judge ye not the unjudged is where he slipped
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| The real guilty is filthy, he chipped Egypt
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| Blew the nose right of the Sphynx, now when he inks
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| Ugly as when our hair kinks, we thinks
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| Then zap goes the nap, now I gots good hair
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| If that’s good hair then bad’s a hood’s hair
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| Comb-twisted dome, braided or faded
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| The first man played it and now we hate it?
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| Robbed of our culture, true indeed I bear witness
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| And recommend this mental fitness
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| So get this loaded toolie and point it at a ghoul, G Then ask him: Who you callin’moolie?
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| OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Oh…
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| OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Oh…
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| OH NO!
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| Who me?
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| Oh…
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| OH NO!
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| Who…
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| Ah man, damn, man.
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| Yo, they wanna call me a monkey, a coon, a jiggaboo a boogieman…
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| Yo Bert
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| Yo…
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| Bert
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| Um, what is it?
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| Yo G, they wanna call me all these names
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| Aha
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| I know what we can do What can we do?
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| We’ll ask someone out there to find…
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| (Little Sambo)
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| What you be meanin', G?
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| Okay, pick up a crayon…
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| (Who me?)
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| No, them
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| Us?
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| Yes
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| Kids pick up a crayon, look for…
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| (Little Sambo)
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| When you find him, draw a circle around him
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| Yo Bert, you gets props, G
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| (*laughs*)
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| Yo, have dap, man
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| Peace
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| Yo, you got to rock that Hum shit for me later, too |