Sick of your crucificool
Cootchy-coo, look at you, cootchy-coo,
look at you, and you're a
Heck of a champion too
Hands to god, 'rena rock,
hold the poor, in your heart, flash'em the
Shades and the leather perfume
Smell of God, martyr fool,
win their hearts, king of tools, king of the
Philanthropicacool
'Mericans, Africans,
holding hands, buying pants
I'm on top of the new new thing
Gonna get the new line of bling, and I'll
Shine shine shine shine like a white god
natives gonna worship me
I woulda done it anyhow, so I'll
Buy it up buy it all right now, because
Africa just wants to have some fun
In the land where nothing grows, nobody even knows
Nobody knows that it's a Chrissamuss, What do they do without the Chrissamuss, ooh
Let's go on a safari, show these jungle cats how to party
This desert is so beautiful, hey let's make a music video, yeah
Me and the natives will be singin' holdin' hands we gonna stop all the violence in this land
I'm gonna set this world straight, I'm suckin' dick at the G-8, but
I'm not the only one lickin' choads at this safari party
Clear channel men fellatiate me, censor me and proliferate me
Where'd ya get that jacket, Bo-no?
Where'd ya get those shades, Robo-Cop?
You and your little booby Bobby,
Sellin' the new Spanish gold
Everyone out on the floor
It's supergroup pop for the poor
Savin' our souls at the store
Savin' us all from the horror
Let your martryrs arms
Bear the winds
Of the wind machine, wind machine
Gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little drunka tonight, gonna get a little
Gonna get fucked up tonight, gonna get fucked up tonight ee-aigh-ee-aight,
Me and the kids are pickin' fun at you, we're pickin' fun pickin' fun pickin' fun at you
Cuz when you're actin' like Christ on the cross, you look ridiculous OOHH
I admit it I don't know what to do, I don't know I don't know what to do
But I know what not to do, and I know the smell of your leather perfume, it smells like
Death to me, smells like piss on a fire, smells like toxic fumes at a maquiladora
Where'd ya get that shirt asshole
Whncha make Whncha make up your mind
Are you bored Are you bored or inspired? Well either way
You just came to shoot your load off the stage
A pacifier for a nation of beige
After your concert and at the G-8
You came to party yeah you came to get laid