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 kill yourself
Oh, yeah
Girl, I'm a walking plane-crash to your moms and dads
Ostentatious and crass pulling the gauze off your scabs
Bitch, 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 shits 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 nigga 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 kill 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 shit 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 gangbang
the thought of it turns my member to a soggy plantain
and shit, I get off on news leads
and your pet mouse meat,
set and poised with sex toys
in your penthouse suite believing you're Lou Reed
I spit used reeds out the wet mouthpiece
Even when sex appeal is taboo,
electric bills are past due
My head is clear of engineered, election-year snafu
Chorus
I used to say, fuck 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