Ah, ah the tool spinners
Cooking the full dinner
Killing the first born of lyrical Yul Brenners
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Careless whisper from a careless man
A neutron dance for a neutron fan
Marionette strings are dangerous things
I thought of all the trouble they bring
An eye for an eye, a spy for a spy
Rubber bands expand in a frustrating sigh
Tell me that she’s not dreaming
She’s got an ace in the hole
It doesn’t have meaning
Reality used to be a friend of mine
'Cause complete control, I don’t take too kind
Christina Applegate, you gotta put me on
Guess who’s piece of the cake with Jack gone?
She broke her wishbone and wished for a sign
I told her whispers in my heart were fine
What did she think she could do?
I feel for her, I really do
And I stared at the ring finger on her hand
I wanted her to be a big P.M. Dawn fan
But I had to put her right back with the rest
That’s the way it goes, I guess
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Your beauty is heavy duty,
Like diarrhea.
Boobs, asses, faces / Used glasses cases
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I could never take the lead, I could never bob and weave
From a negative and letting them annihilate me
And it’s evident I’m moving at a meteor speed
Finna run into a building, lay my body in the street
Keep my money in the ceiling, let my mama know I’m free
Give my story to the children and a lesson they can read
And the glory to the feeling of the holy unseen
Seen enough, make a motherfucker scream, “I love myself!”
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Struggling in a vortex
With my jacket made of Gore-Tex
It fits wonderfully
At least it’s a complete rhyme across both lines.
In West Philadelphia born and raised
On the playground is where I spent most of my days
Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
And said “You’re moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air”
Dial me a Valentine
She’s a smooth operator
It’s all so calculated
She’s got a calculator
She’s my soft touch typewriter
And I’m the great dictator
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Oh, what a feeling
When we’re dancing on the ceiling
He’s the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he’s been overheard in Mayfair
You better stay away from him
He’ll rip your lungs out, Jim
I’d like to meet his tailor
Do not stand still, boast yo’ skills
Close but no krills, toast for po’ nils, post no bills
Coast to coast Joe Shmoe’s flows ill, go chill
Not supposed to overdose on all those pills
LeAnn with Busta a close second
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I’m Bobba, the Fett
My backpack’s got jets.
Girls, girls, get that cash
If it’s 9 to 5 or shaking your ass
Ain’t no shame, ladies do your thing
Just make sure you ahead of the game
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Boom
Shake shake shake tha room
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Yes! And it hasn’t aged well, but still impressed with how he thought to rhyme Faye Dunaway with Gay Runaway, and Rob Reiner and Knob Shiner.
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There’s a Papa M track from a while ago that had the lyrics something like:
‘There was something like a wall between us // that stopped your going down on ma penis’
Here it is
The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin’
That’s what I said
The looser the waistband, the deeper the quicksand
Or, so I’ve read.
My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo
I love to sink her with my pink torpedo.
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