Story Behind the Song
2 rhymes come together for a bigger song.
Lyrics
I admit I can’t sing. I dance like an epileptic.
As a rapper, I stink. I reek worse than a septic.
And you know I’m tanking rhymes faster than you beat time.
And with gold chains you’ll hang my head for crimes
Against hip hop, trip hop, and punk rock cops
Who for the sake of politics allow the fun to stop.
Except the fun doesn’t stop while we’re having the jam.
And if you aren’t having fun, well at least I am.
Bringing classic entertainment to patricians and plebeians-
PSYCHO ROOSTER! We started out as thespians.
You like electronic-country-jazz-rock-and-roll-or-rap?
Well then come hither my man, and we can point out a map.
We have hats, many hats, unorthodox hats
Even cowboy hats that look better on a stranger.
Still the hats are ours and the style isn’t limping.
If you don’t believe us, well then just come see us when we’re pimping.
In our lizard green jumpsuits from ’74?
‘Twas a very good year, except the band wasn’t born.
Look, you can sing all you want about your joy and your woes,
But it takes a fine crew to bring about it in prose.
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