I'm just average, common tooI'm just like him, the same as youI'm everybody's brother and sonI ain't different from anyoneIt ain't no use a-talking to meIt's just the same as talking to you.I was shadow-boxing earlier in the dayI figured I was ready for Cassius ClayI said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mineFive, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you'd better run99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won't even recognize you14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen."Well, I don't know, but I've been toldThe streets in heaven are lined with goldI ask you how things could get much worseIf the Russians happen to get up there first.Wowee' pretty scary!Now, I'm liberal, but to a degreeI want ev'rybody to be freeBut if you think that I'll let Barry GoldwaterMove in next door and marry my daughterYou must think I'm crazy!I wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba.Well, I set my monkey on the logAnd ordered him to do the DogHe wagged his tail and shook his headAnd he went and did the Cat insteadHe's a weird monkey, very funky.I sat with my high-heeled sneakers onWaiting to play tennis in the noonday sunI had my white shorts rolled up past my waistAnd my wig-hat was falling in my faceBut they wouldn't let me on the tennis court.I gotta woman, she's so meanShe sticks my boots in the washing machineSticks me with buckshot when I'm nudePuts bubblegum in my foodShe's funny, wants my money, calls me "honey."Now I gotta friend who spends his lifeStabbing my picture with a bowie-knifeDreams of strangling me with a scarfWhen my name comes up he pretends to barf.I've got a million friends!Now they asked me to read a poemAt the sorority sister's homeI got knocked down and my head was swimmin'I wound up with the Dean of WomenYippee! I'm a poet, and I know it.Hope I don't blow it.I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strangeSo I look like a walking mountain rangeAnd I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horseOut to the country club and the golf course.Carry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds.Now you're probably wondering by nowJust what this song is all aboutWhat's probably got you baffled moreIs what this thing here is for.It's nothingIt's something I learned over in England.
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I'm just average, common too
I'm just like him, the same as you
I'm everybody's brother and son
I ain't different from anyone
It ain't no use a-talking to me
It's just the same as talking to you.
I was shadow-boxing earlier in the day
I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay
I said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come
26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mine
Five, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you'd better run
99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won't even recognize you
14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen."
Well, I don't know, but I've been told
The streets in heaven are lined with gold
I ask you how things could get much worse
If the Russians happen to get up there first.
Wowee' pretty scary!
Now, I'm liberal, but to a degree
I want ev'rybody to be free
But if you think that I'll let Barry Goldwater
Move in next door and marry my daughter
You must think I'm crazy!
I wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba.
Well, I set my monkey on the log
And ordered him to do the Dog
He wagged his tail and shook his head
And he went and did the Cat instead
He's a weird monkey, very funky.
I sat with my high-heeled sneakers on
Waiting to play tennis in the noonday sun
I had my white shorts rolled up past my waist
And my wig-hat was falling in my face
But they wouldn't let me on the tennis court.
I gotta woman, she's so mean
She sticks my boots in the washing machine
Sticks me with buckshot when I'm nude
Puts bubblegum in my food
She's funny, wants my money, calls me "honey."
Now I gotta friend who spends his life
Stabbing my picture with a bowie-knife
Dreams of strangling me with a scarf
When my name comes up he pretends to barf.
I've got a million friends!
Now they asked me to read a poem
At the sorority sister's home
I got knocked down and my head was swimmin'
I wound up with the Dean of Women
Yippee! I'm a poet, and I know it.
Hope I don't blow it.
I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strange
So I look like a walking mountain range
And I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horse
Out to the country club and the golf course.
Carry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds.
Now you're probably wondering by now
Just what this song is all about
What's probably got you baffled more
Is what this thing here is for.
It's nothing
It's something I learned over in England.
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