I take a bite outta' Maryanna’s cookie and Christine’s apple
And write graffiti on the ceilin' of the Sistine Chapel and
No, I’m not jokin' 'bout drinkin' coffee and pot-smokin'
Many minds try to take the weight off me and die broken
But I remain soft-spoken, humble yet cocky
If that makes any sense, and I
Mumble like Rocky Balboa
What’s up to my good pals Noah
,, Tyrone, and
Oh yeah, some of the other names ain’t good to mention
Because alotta folks don’t know the true meanin' of friendship, and I
Won’t let a drum machine come between me and myself
I can’t be bothered with «cosmo-politics.»
Wolves ran after us, but they couldn’t catch us
Scared because we strike anywhere like wooden matches
First part finally and second part initial
Now what you call «official art,» I call «artificial.»
Who would be fool enough to think
He or she wasn’t cool enough to smell the flowers, listen to the bees buzzin'
I tell my little sister shut her eyes
And think about the butterflies
And don’t say bad words or utter lies. It’s a
Classic case of abusin' the telephone device and
Not bein' able to take my own advice
Oh well, whatch' you gonna' do?
Should this spacious interior
Be home to goodness gracious?
I’d like to think so
And I’d like to live long
So hold the cold hand of the old man and give strong
Positive shouts out to the inner core of beauty
At every step along the way on your tour of duty
Whatever that is, and keep your mind open
Keep your ears open, and keep your eyes wide open
Keep guessin'