Don’t Leave Me, Negro
My man is leaving, and I think they want to give me his position. I don’t want it. I see that they work my man like a dog. And I doubt if they’ll pay me what they’re paying him, which is still crap.
In fact, I’m trying to get into another department. I interviewed last week for this cool ass position over there, but I won’t know if I got it for another week. I’m crossing my fingers because I can’t stay in this crap position any longer. I feel all dirty and molested on the daily.
Dudes just don’t appreciate you over here. Sure, I don’t do crap, which is a whole other problem all together, but still, I wish I was appreciated for the nothing I don’t do. When people show me love, I wanna work just that much harder for them, or work about the same with fewer errors.
In fact, they don’t even have to show me love. They just gotta pay me. And I ain’t talking about little bank. I’m talking about the the Muddy Banks of the Worchester, of the Wash-Car, of the Make-a-Wish, whatever. I need big dough, large bills, Texas gold, urine tea.
(Dun-Dun-Dun)
Come and listen to a story about a man named Doc
A poor masturbator, who loved wetting up a sock
He never had dough, always broke and outta luck
Hoping for the day when he could get a girl to…
Oil him up, Free Willy
Well the first thing you know ol’ Doc still broke as hell
Kinfolk on crack that’s why he gotta move from there
Said the psycho ward is the place you ought to be
So he washed him some drawers that were yellow with his pee
P.S. Maybe get myself a cement pond, and bring my hot cousin, Ellie, along for the ride. If lovin’ her is wrong, I don’t wanna be right…
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