| Cuckoo. |
| cuckoo. |
| cuckoo. |
| cuckoo.
|
| Cuckoo. |
| cuckoo. |
| cuckoo. |
| cuckoo.
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| At first you might have thought this was a song from the Blackbyrds
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| Nope. |
| it’s a song about crack birds
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| The way they conduct themselves is absurd
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| I’m talkin about the feather crested wheezy woolie bird
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| Her body — is shriveled up like a prune
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| She’s always chirpin that same ol’tune
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| On a mission, just to get a shoulder boulder
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| A bump, a pellet, so yo, I told her
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| to wise up — get your pants sized up!
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| Stop walkin around, with your eyes shut
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| It seems to me that you don’t care if you have dirty knees
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| (yeah I know why) «you got the birdie disease»
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| «You got the birdie disease»
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| «You got the birdie disease»
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| Lips for dips, dips for lips
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| While she’s rubbin the T.D., you ease the hips
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| cause she don’t care, she’ll let you wax that ass
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| As long as her purple lips are on that glass
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| Cause she’s a friendship bird, don’t confuse it with a bug
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| A friendship bird, knows how to thoroughly search a rug
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| for a pebble, they know is not there
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| She’s fiendin for more so she leaves she don’t care
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| cause she’s off. |
| on a brand new mission
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| To search the couch and perhaps your seat cushion
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| She comes up with a nickel a penny and a quarter
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| That’s thirty-one cents, maybe more and she can order
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| a pellet, to burn it and smell it Anything you had — she’ll try to sell it Cause she’s fiendin, she’s moanin, she’s cryin
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| She’s beggin you please (but yo) «you got the birdie disease»
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| Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of crack
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| That’s not where it’s at, stop livin like that
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| On the hunt — stop tryin to be a stunt
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| If the jimmy was a (??) you’d smoke the blunts
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| So yo G, keep your eyes on your J-E-E-P
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| So don’t S-L-E-E-P
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| Or you might be E-S-O-R or a Y Go to the third eye with a bird eye, you gotta watch your back
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| Because the duck-billed platypus is known to quack in crack
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| Light as a feather she could blow away
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| with the slightest of a breeze «you got the birdie disease»
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| Last verse is the curse of the worst in history
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| I’m gonna quench your thirst with a mystery
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| Surroundin the subject is a fine specimen
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| The wheezy woozy bird gets the best of them
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| Never an (?) bird although they can be ruthless
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| It’s hard for them to whistle cause they mouths is toothless
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| Bunions on they feet from her feather-crested hair
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| Dude there’s nothin in the world, you could compare
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| to the smell of a skunk, kickin up funk
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| Pushin a shoppin cart full of junk
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| I wish they could put an end to this sleeze
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| and tell them, yo «you got the birdie disease» |