"Mr. Mister (Album Version)" genre: Hip Hop
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	CD: Look Who's Rhyming   Label: IllBilly Entertainment Credits: Written and Performed by Jay Boogie. Produced by KRaZ.
	Lyrics CHORUS: Hey Mister Mister, what's the deal Why're you looking at me like I'm here to steal Hey Mister Mister, my girlfriend's father, Why're you so upset that I'm with your daughter Hey Mister Mister, college professor I aced the exam, now you's a second guesser Hey Mister Mister, you need to realize I do "rap music," not drive-bys I'm a fine, upstanding member of society Yet the Public Eye keeps evil eyeing me I sag my jeans, and I walk wit' a limp But Mister, Mister that don't mean I'm a pimp I should pimp slap ya' for assuming that For looking at me funny when I cock my Puma hat I'm sick of Mister, Mister, always staring Sick of Mister judging by these clothes I be wearing Sick of Mister frowning, sick of Mister glaring Sick of Mister whining when he hears my system blaring Sick of Mister, Mister, falsely accusing Sick of Mister asking if I'm dealing or abusing No, Mister, Mister, I'm not a crack smoker The only gun I own is a black Super Soaker See, Mister, Mister you've got it all wrong And that's exactly why I wrote you a song Dear Mister, Mister I wrote you this rhyme To let your whole kind know what's been on my mind All you baby boomers, Macy's consumers Khaki pants, country club-types y'all give me tumors Specifically, let's talk about my girl's father The one who's so upset that I'm with his precious daughter The one who thinks she's changed for the worse since I met her The one who always tells her, "You could do much better." He dreamed about his baby dating All-Americans Or at least some rich kid with a fat inheritance He wants her to marry a doctor, a lawyer, an actor Anyone, just not a rapper 'Cause he don't like me, my friends, my car, my clothes Nor my bank account- not enough O's Why'd you tell your daughter not to call me for? I'd be a great Son-in-Law like Pauly Shore This last verse goes to parents, teachers, Dentists, plumbers, yes even preachers Carpenters, bankers, uncles, husbands, Republicans, Democrats, Christians and Muslims 'Cause see Mister, Mister has many occupations Many faces and he lives in many nations He goes by names like Tom, Dick, and Harry "Hi, it's nice to meet you, I'm your biggest adversary." He's short, tall, fat, skinny, black and white He's the one always saying that you're not actin' right He doesn't like me, 'cause my name is Hip-Hop I wear those baggy clothes, and I walk that pimp walk But Mister, Mister only judges wit' his eyes He sees what he wants and he's quick to criticize He blames all the problems on just one thing, Hip-Hop- we only rap 'cause we can't sing

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