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I'm just average, common too
I'm just like him, the same as youI'm everybody's brother and sonI ain't different than anyoneIt ain't no use a-talking to meIt's just the same as talking to you
I was shadow-boxing earlier in the dayI figured I was ready for Cassius ClayI said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay here I come26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mineFive, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you'd better run99, 100, 101, 102, Your ma won't even recognize you14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen
Well, I don't know, but I've been toldThe streets in heaven are lined with goldI ask you how things could get much worseIf the Russians happen to get up there firstWowee, pretty scary!
Now, I'm liberal, but to a degreeI want ev'rybody to be freeBut if you think that I'll let Barry GoldwaterMove in next door and mary my daughterYou must think I'm crazyI wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba
Well, I set my monkey on the logAnd ordered him to do the DogHe wagged his tail and shook his headAnd he went and did the Cat insteadHe's a weird monkey, very funky
I sat with my high-heeled sneakers onWaiting to play tennis in the noonday sunI had my white shorts rolled up past my waistAnd my wig-hat falling in my faceBut they wouldn't let me on the tennis court
I gotta woman, she's so meanShe sticks my boots in the washing machineSticks me with buckshot when I'm nudePuts bubblegum in my foodShe's funny, wants my money, calls me honey
Now I gotta friend who spends his lifeStabbing my picture with a bowie-knifeDreams of strangling me with a scarfWhen my name comes up he pretends to barfI've got a million friends
Now they asked me to read a poemAt the sorority sister's homeI got knocked down and my head was swimmin'I wound up with the Dean of WomenYippeeI'm a poet, and I know itHope I don't blow it
I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strangeSo I look like a walking mountain rangeAnd I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horseOut to the country club and the golf courseCarry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds
You're probably wondering by nowJust what this song is all aboutWhat's probably got you baffled moreWhat this thing here is forIt's nothingIt's something I learned over in England
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