Hey
Hey
Hey
Hey
You did it, you got it, you wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up, you're dressed up to k** yourself
Oh, yeah
Girl, I'm a walking plane-crash to your moms and dads
Ostentatious and cra** pulling the gauze off your scabs
b**h, I negate the myth of the 'great black boyfriend'
In the Polaroid at the get-together
Wearing a corduroy vest-sweater
So don't get that engagement ring engraved
'Cause before we met you thought that hood rats laid eggs
And that rappers were just sky pirates with peg legs
But I kick it with you simply for the sh**s and giggles, playful innuendos
You thought, "he's just an uber-dred for the federal fiscal cap"
But after brunch, you'll need
Two Sudafeds and a disco nap
After I drain your insides with a crazy straw
You ain't my baby-doll
"'Cause n***a you reek of coffee-shop blend"
My baby's a lollipop that caters to the miss polyglot's whim"
With addictive agents that outweigh Oxycontins
And our phobias perfectly fit
It takes a quirky chick with curvy hips to petrify this working-stiff
[Chorus:]
You did it, you got it
You wowed the world
Of casting agents and cowgirls
Fess up you're dressed up to k** yourself
While I'm still on the shelf
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags
They want an everyman milking the oldest gags
Spilling the contents of a Pepsi can on folded flags
I'll be today's avatar of the pre-fad
Then end up a child star in rehab
It's like a bed-and-breakfast
I'm sending a text message on my keypad
Saying "I have no more to say to my ex-manager/sea hag divorcee
except eat sh** and die"
My daily commute ends with a fender-bender
'Cause no one acknowledges my ten-year tenure
I've got the know-how the thrill your scene
But they want someone lowbrow, a philistine
With iron-on irony for Viacom's white honkies
They'll send you a girl wearing tight thongs under nylon gis
"Let's all hit"
But I'm not for the gaudy g**n
the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain
and sh**, I get off on news leads
and your pet mouse meat,
set and poised with s** toys
in your penthouse suite believing you're Lou Reed
I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece
Even when s** appeal is taboo,
electric bills are past due
My head is clear of engineered, election-year snafu
[Chorus]
I used to say, f** it
Wouldn't placate the functionaries
Too busy making play-dates with buxom secretaries
But I hope that my homies don't laugh,
my choreographed dance steps
Are a little effeminate for a sociopath
We've been airbrushed so much we look like a claymation zoo
I'm a voice-over on your PlayStation 2
But in my hey-day, my ethical fiber
would turn stages into firewood
[Chorus]