i thought my cd was done,
but that’s not what they say
do an insult track,
we need it for radio play
american idol, that’s what i look for,
in the p–p section of my local record store.
ruben or clay, oh which one should i pick,
it’s like choosing which puddle of vomit to lick.
and when i want something even more fruity and fit,
i look up n for nsync or t for timberlake.
so many skills justin’s making a buck at,
does he rap, does he sing, he doesn’t know what to suck at!
now as for the b-tches, lets give britney thanks,
for the face that launched a million preteen sk-nks.
you were a virgin, that had to be hard,
you had more bones in your mouth than a st. bernard.
i keed, i keed
he’s just making little jokes,
i joke with you,
little dog, little jokes,
i keed, i keed,
he’s just making little jokes,
and your a good actress too.
now lets go to walmart,
where they won’t sell me cd,
those company’s nuts are in a jar in aisle three.
but you can see christina in all her sl-thood
it’s like watching p-rn but the music’s not as good.
i want to stuff my tv’s crotch with a dollar
still i would hump you if i could wear my flea collar.
you’re looser than my p–p after eating honeydew,
only 50 cents can flunk more than you!
and yet you’re too old for fred durst to desire,
he’s checking out the cast of lizzie mcguire
soon fred will try to get mandy moore,
to open for him and i don’t mean on tour!
you’re not the first person for r kelly
his video’s premiere in the lapd.
i believe they set up an innocent guy.
you know what kel? i believe i can fly
now look how frickin cool those guys from the strokes are
their riffs are three times as old as my jokes are
the white stripes guy, is that your wife or your sister
shouldn’t you be playing country music mister.
hey coldplay, maybe you should be coldsore.
back when you were u2, i liked you so much more.
somehow your song yellow reminds me of pee
i think that when it’s over, it’s a big relief to me
yo pink, is that your hair or a tattoo?
i didn’t know supercuts had a drive through
yo nelly, what the h-ll kinda name is that?
that’s about as gangster as an easter bonnet hat.
and snoop says he clean, well you make the call
the guy’s higher than billy joel’s cholesterol,
snoop there’s only room for one dog putz,
and i can rap, can you lick your own nuts?
poop diddy, are you in show business still?
i didn’t know wearing a suit was a skill.
j.lo, j.lo the giant tail-o
for a doggie’s nose, that’s the holy grail-o
shakira’s b-tt’s fine, but it won’t hold still.
i sniffed elton john’s tush just for all the history
i sniffed j.lo’s -ss and got too touchy feely
she let loose a bomb that was bigger than gigli.
avril lavinge, punk queen, now there’s a kidder,
go back up north, celine needs a baby-sitter
philip gl-ss, atonal -ss, your not immune
write a song with af—— tune
and on the list of pooches, don’t leave off mtv,
i scared emineminem, so they gave the hook to me.
slim shady, why do you find me scary?
we are just two regular dudes who banged mariah carey.
wipe off that frown, just do without
hey my mom was a b-tch too, but i don’t go writing songs about it.