But, lyrics don't really get any worse than this....
MY HUMPS
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)
I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ices.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and that Donna
Karan, they be sharin'
All their money got me wearin' fly
Brother I ain't askin,
They say they love my ass ‘n,
Seven Jeans, True Religion's,
I say no, but they keep givin'
So I keep on takin'
And no I ain't taken
We can keep on datin'
I keep on demonstrating.
My love (love), my love, my love, my love (love)
You love my lady lumps (love),
My hump, my hump, my hump (love),
My humps they got you,
She's got me spending.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me and spending time on me.
She's got me spendin'.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me, up on me, on me
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump (ha), my hump, my hump, my hump (what).
My hump, my hump, my hump (ha), my lovely lady lumps (Check it out)
I met a girl down at the disco.
She said hey, hey, hey yea let's go.
I could be your baby, you can be my honey
Let's spend time not money.
I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.
They say I'm really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin' at my lump, lump.
You can look but you can't touch it,
If you touch it I'ma start some drama,
You don't want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama
So don't pull on my hand boy,
You ain't my man, boy,
I'm just tryn'a dance boy,
And move my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
In the back and in the front (lumps)
My lovin' got you,
She's got me spendin'.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me and spending time on me.
She's got me spendin'.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me, up on me, on me.
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'ma make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk,
Get you love drunk off this hump.
What you gon' do wit all that breast?
All that breast inside that shirt?
I'ma make, make, make, make you work
Make you work, work, make you work.
(A-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha) [x4]
She's got me spendin'.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me and spendin' time on me
She's got me spendin'.
(Oh) Spendin' all your money on me, up on me, on me.
So bad that it inspired me to write my own terrible song for Will.I.Am to record on the next Pee's album. I think it fits right in with their lyrical style. (Includes notes for Mr. Am to help with recording and video production.) If he can make gazillions doing this, why can't I?
"Peaches N' Skeet" (or Proof That I Can Write "Songs" Just As Goodly As Will.I.Am.)
(Pre recording notes: There is to be no actual melody used in this song, but it will be drenched in autotune. the number will open with approximately 25 of my closest friends (we'll call them dancers) dressed as farmers and farmer's daughters carrying peach baskets and tossing fruit into the audience. Some of it may be rotten by showtime...remember to sign rotten fruit waivers and have them in the attorney's hands prior to air.)
(The lead male vocalist (I have been advised by my legal team NOT to use the word singer) will be wearing typical Will.I.Am headgear and goggles. This will not be an issue as I have been advised that simply calling it a "tribute" will be enough to avoid legal action. A second male vocalist will join the lead vocalist on stage to simply wear sunglasses and say "yeah" after every 4th word. This is done to build street cred.)
PEACHES N' SKEET
Come on baby baby
Come on baby come come
I know you tighter, baby
Than a snare snare drum
Pick it off the tree
Pick a peach for me
(at this point, let me just say to Mr. I.Am that I know you want this song for your own. Please contact my attorney.)
*GRAMMY WORTHY CHORUS RIGHT CH'ERE!*
Peaches N' Skeet
Juicy underwear meat
On white, rye or wheat
It's a juicy juicy treat treat
Boogie down, uh uh
Boogie wet, yeah
(please hold applause until after the chorus repeats a second time.)
Grill you up, skeet skeet
Eat up all your peach meat
(the above two lines will be repeated no less than 30 times.)
(obligatory female part. Senor I.Am won't write a song without one, so why should I?)
Come on get my peachy peachy
I'm gon' make you screachy screachy
Screachy parakeet you screachy
Uh. Uh uh. Yeah. Screachy.
(at this point, the female vocalist wets herself and exits. a large cloud of smoke covers the entire stage, out of which emerges Slash, who plays a melt your face off guitar solo that lasts no longer than 9 seconds. apparently, Slash gets paid in 9 second increments, and I can't afford double the Slash time. besides, he's Slash, dammit. 9 seconds should be more than enough to win at least 3 MTV Video Awards.)
(the entire song is then repeated except for the obligatory female part and, of course, Slash. The female has nothing dry to change into. which brings us to our amazing finale, during which the dancers are now writhing and grinding against each other covered in peach feces.)
(thunderous applause and Grammy nominations will soon follow.)
Yes, the lyrics to mine are dumb...but still not as bad as "My Humps", or any number of BEP songs! _________________ I'm leaning on the threshold
Of her mystery
And crashing through the walls
Of dying history
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