Who Me? [With an Answer from Dr. Bert]
"Once upon a time there was a little boy
Who lived in the deep, dark jungles of Africa
His name was Little Sambo" (Uh oh
ZL's X-ercisin' his right to be hostile)
They always try to say that coon
Is me for some reason
(I don't understand, man)
You don't understand?! (No, I don't know)
My temper, temper's up to like tenward
Switched up with thoughts that I recommend
My nest is flood but thicker is blood
Plus, still some stay stud like
Sticks in the mud
Ibuprofen from new kids keep
Me from flippin' daily
Yet, I constantly slip into
Thinkin' kinda loony in my logo you see us?
Whoever said that coon was me?
Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no!
Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no!
Holy smokes! I say it's a joke
To make a mockery of the original folks
Okay, joke's over, but still it cloaks over
Us with no luck from no clover
This, irritates X, so goes into my text
Tolerates one N-word complex
Subroc, etched the fuzz of what once was
In eighty-deca, the joke's on cuz
Those on top of my head stand seven thick
Hairs that even if I wanted
To I couldn't pick
Pigment, is this a defect in birth?
Or more an example of the richness on Earth?
Lips and eyes dominant trait's of our race
Does not take up 95 percent of one's face
But still I see, in the back two or three
Ignorant punks pointing at me
Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no!
Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no!
Uh, oh no! (Who me?)
Yo, I begs your pardon
But have you ever seen this
Brother walkin' 'round here anywhere?
That must be missing person
Have you ever saw his face on a milk carton?
(Oh, no)
Tricky tricky
Must be part of the "Gas Face" series
The same one who started black
Cat bad luck theories
Yeah, he done it, this place, he runs it
And I'm guilty, Alcatraz till four hundred
Judge ye not the unjudged is where he slipped
The real guilty is filthy, he gypped Egypt
Blew the nose right off the Sphynx
Now when he inks
Ugly as when our hair kinks, we thinks
Then zap goes the nap, now I gots good hair
If that's good hair, then bad's a hood's hair
Comb-twisted dome, braided or faded
The first man played it and now we hate it?
Robbed of our culture
True indeed I bear witness
And recommend this mental fitness
So get this loaded toolie and
Point it at a ghoul
Then ask him: "Who you callin' moolie?"
Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no!
Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no!
Yo, they wanna call me a monkey, a coon
A jiggaboo a boogie man, yo Bert! Yo! Bert!
No, them (Oh, us?) Yes
Kids, pick up a crayon, look for
(Little Sambo)
When you find him, draw a circle around him
Yo, you got to rock that
Hum shit for me later, too