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I don't weigh a pound over one hundred and eighty and, what's more, I never did.

quote by Fatty Arbuckle
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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Weigh

Id like to cut your head off so I could weigh it, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six, pounds, seven pounds
Id like to go to your house and gather all your razors and pick all the
Little prickly hairs so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Id like to gather all your friends and squish them all into a small
Swimming pool so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-igh-hey?
Why weigh, why weigh?
Id like to hear my options, so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do, so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-gh-hey?
Why
Oh why[x11]
Why weigh?

song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Auld Wife

PART I

The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees.

The piper he pip’d on the hill-top high,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
Till the cow said, “I die,” and the goose asked “Why?”
And the dog said nothing, but search’d for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard,
The connection of which with the plot one sees.

The farmer’s daughter hath frank blue eyes;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.

The farmer’s daughter hath ripe red lips;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
If you try to approach her away she skips
Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where,
Which wholly consisted of lines like these.

PART II

She sat with her hands ’neath her dimpled cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
There is hope, but she did n’t even sneeze.

She sat with her hands ’neath her crimson cheeks;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She gave up mending her father’s breeks,
And let the cat roll in her best chemise.

She sat with her hands ’neath her burning cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And gaz’d at the piper for thirteen weeks;
Then she follow’d him out o’er the misty leas.

Her sheep follow’d her, as their tails did them,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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Vindicated

Vindicated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a feeling that is felt this is elated.

When you've been vindicated,
From those acts that can decay...
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

When you've been accused,
By other people for things you did not do...
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Tossing and turning and can't sleep,
By those deceivers planning defeat...
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

When you've been depicted to be a fool,
By others who wish to undo you...
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Vindicated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a feeling that is felt this is elated.

When you've been vindicated,
From those acts that can decay...
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Vin-di-cated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Vin-di-cated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Vin-di-cated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

Vin-di-cated!
When you've been vindicated,
There's a weigh that lifts and chases blues away.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Million-pound-semi-detached

Havent we come a long way
From newly-weds in our bed-sitter flat?
We skimped and scraped every penny
For a down payment on our semi-detached.
New towns for all the young hopefuls,
A garden suburb with mortgage attached,
Oh, look at us now, sale all agreed, now its time to exchange the contracts
With the people who sold us a million-pound semi.
Straight out of national service,
Demob suits and short back and sides,
And saw the bomb sites turned air-raid shelters,
Where their families lived all of their lives.
Then the nation built them a utopia,
With pebbledash on the outside, oh,
Look at them now, theyve come a long way, they are affluent and bursting with pride.
Soon well be sitting inside that million-pound semi-detached,
Detached, in our million-pound semi-detached.
Looking back at the past of this million-pound semi.
Two up two down, a back garden, that was the dream,
Two kids, a cat and a dog, that was the scheme.
Then the kids both grew up and got married and moved out of home,
Then we were strangers again, together alone.
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone in our million-pound semi-detached?
Theyre all taking early retirement, the sum total of all of their lives.
Now the country is fat with inflation, immigration has helped us survive.
Once an englishmans home was his castle,
Now its a freehold investment to buy, oh,
Look at us now, our debts are all paid, and the empire has really struck back.
Were the proud owners of a one-million-pound semi-detached,
So detached in our million-pound semi-detached.
A new generation is buying and starting anew,
And learning by all their mistakes the way people do.
Like all the young hopefuls were buying the future from you,
We hope that one day well understand what youve both been through.
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone, in our million-pound semi-detached?
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone, in our million-pound semi-detached?

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Million-Pound-Semi-Detached (Demo Recording)

Haven't we come a long way
From newly-weds in our bed-sitter flat?
We skimped and scraped every penny
For a down payment on our semi-detached.
New towns for all the young hopefuls,
A garden suburb with mortgage attached,
Oh, look at us now, sale all agreed, now it's time to exchange the contracts
With the people who sold us a million-pound semi.
Straight out of national service,
Demob suits and short back and sides,
And saw the bomb sites turned air-raid shelters,
Where their families lived all of their lives.
Then the nation built them a utopia,
With pebbledash on the outside, oh,
Look at them now, they've come a long way, they are affluent and bursting with pride.
Soon we'll be sitting inside that million-pound semi-detached,
Detached, in our million-pound semi-detached.
Looking back at the past of this million-pound semi.
Two up two down, a back garden, that was the dream,
Two kids, a cat and a dog, that was the scheme.
Then the kids both grew up and got married and moved out of home,
Then we were strangers again, together alone.
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone in our million-pound semi-detached?
They're all taking early retirement, the sum total of all of their lives.
Now the country is fat with inflation, immigration has helped us survive.
Once an Englishman's home was his castle,
Now it's a freehold investment to buy, oh,
Look at us now, our debts are all paid, and the Empire has really struck back.
We're the proud owners of a one-million-pound semi-detached,
So detached in our million-pound semi-detached.
A new generation is buying and starting anew,
And learning by all their mistakes the way people do.
Like all the young hopefuls we're buying the future from you,
We hope that one day we'll understand what you've both been through.
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone, in our million-pound semi-detached?
Look at us now, what are we like,
Sitting alone, in our million-pound semi-detached?

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rock Away

Stay on it.
Pray on it.
Don't give up,
'Til you own it.
And...
Pound, pound that rock away!
Don't let it get to you another day,
Oh!
Get a pick and shovel pieces of it...
To a place where it will stay.

Oooow!

p-p-p Pound, pound that rock away.
Don't let it get to you another day,
Oh!
tick-tick-tick,
Get a pick...
And shovel pieces of it to a place,
Where you know it will stay!

Take it off your constant meter.
Make your heated sweat,
Even sweeter.
Give it up to the gripper,
Quicker.
Slicker.
Live your life lived that much richer.
And...
Pound, pound that rock away!
Don't let it get to you another day,
Oh!
Get a pick and shovel pieces of it...
To a place,
Where...
It will stay.

You will not feel free,
Until that beast has been ceased.

Stay on it.
Pray on it.
Don't give up,
'Til you own it.
Stay on it.
Pray on it.
Don't give up,
'Til you own it.

p-p-p Pound, pound that rock away.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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St. Louis was dying

St. Louis was dying
Under the weight of
Lost telephones
Thrown away by
The deaf hands of
My computer speakers

The keyboard misspelled
The noon day sun
When St. Louis was dying
Under stress of crime
Thrown into the furnace fire
Where an angel was born
To save the weigh of
Telephone wires strung
Down the dirty and dingy
Alley in the back yard of
A renovated heaven

The key board of the noon day sun
Was dying under the weigh
Of a deaf tongue moved
By the speakers speaking
In a foreign language
Only understood by telephones
In the long distend night of long tongues

St. Louis is dying
Under the weigh of
Ten cent poverty
In a ten dollar year where
The furnace is stressing
Out on crime committed
In the noon day weigh
Of heaven’s back yard
Where an angel uses
The dark and dingy telephone
To call the long distend night

Heaven is dying under the weigh of
Misspelled angels dark and dingy
And lost in t he light of my computer
Where the thrown away weigh of
Poverty is spending counterfeit
Dollars worth ten cent crimes
Dying in the heaven of
The weigh of angels
Misspelling the word tongue.

poem by David E. Patton
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The Hammers

I

Frindsbury, Kent, 1786

Bang!
Bang!
Tap!
Tap-a-tap! Rap!
All through the lead and silver Winter days,
All through the copper of Autumn hazes.
Tap to the red rising sun,
Tap to the purple setting sun.
Four years pass before the job is done.
Two thousand oak trees grown and felled,
Two thousand oaks from the hedgerows of the Weald,
Sussex had yielded two thousand oaks
With huge boles
Round which the tape rolls
Thirty mortal feet, say the village folks.
Two hundred loads of elm and Scottish fir;
Planking from Dantzig.
My! What timber goes into a ship!
Tap! Tap!
Two years they have seasoned her ribs on the ways,
Tapping, tapping.
You can hear, though there's nothing where you gaze.
Through the fog down the reaches of the river,
The tapping goes on like heart-beats in a fever.
The church-bells chime
Hours and hours,
Dropping days in showers.
Bang! Rap! Tap!
Go the hammers all the time.
They have planked up her timbers
And the nails are driven to the head;
They have decked her over,
And again, and again.
The shoring-up beams shudder at the strain.
Black and blue breeches,
Pigtails bound and shining:
Like ants crawling about,
The hull swarms with carpenters, running in and out.
Joiners, calkers,
And they are all terrible talkers.
Jem Wilson has been to sea and he tells some wonderful tales
Of whales, and spice islands,
And pirates off the Barbary coast.
He boasts magnificently, with his mouth full of nails.
Stephen Pibold has a tenor voice,
He shifts his quid of tobacco and sings:

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Adrienne Vittadini

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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You Keep Pushing That Bash Back

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

You keep pushing that bash back.
You keep pushing that bash back.
You keep pushing that bash back.
Don't drag that bashing or be tagged.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
You can push that bitter bash back.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
You can push that bitter bash back.

You keep pushing,
That bash back!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST

a partial list in alphabetical order

acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)

ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)

BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting

bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions

BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Hail All Masters Of Small Spinning Ball

In England people believe; a football player
can earn 100 000 pound a week;
apparently that is okay he is; obviously worth
100 000 pound such skill such skill;
obviously this is what such ball; skill is worth?

But a nurse serving the sick
the ill the dying is not worth
more than 30 000 pound a year
more than 30 000 pound a year
angel nurse cannot be worth?

National scandal oh dear King Lear
a banker cannot be worth
that massive massive bonus
not while nation suffers recession fear?

What skill control of financial markets
employment opportunities health care
education but but only a mere banker
what is a banker compared to a football player?

Hail Hail all masters of a small spinning ball
worth a 100 000 pound a week such skill such skill.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Song: Top Dog

Without the luxury or remorse,
of the kennelled cops on horse;
the addict dogs patrol the airport lounge.
I'm an Officer of the Force,
PC Dogie O'Hound, of course,
a taut spring, tight and tensioned, till unwound.

Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
I gets around as Dogie O'Hound,
to sniff out more quarry, pound for pound.

The dog cop is Halle-Boppe,
a comet to a grain.
You'll never stop the dogged cop;
hard-nosed and so well-trained.
The cop dog is top dog,
in the furry food-chain.
The cop dog, full chop dog,
smells guilt in flooding rain.

Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
Dogie O'Hound's no flip-flop, nor bound
by the laws of the jungle. My power's profound!

The cop dog's a hot dog,
whose nose can entertain,
the thick fog and mixed blog,
of false scent as no-brained.
The dog cop is hip-hop;
wild and unrestrained.
The dog cop is tip-top,
black ops and arts arcane.

With a known and honed resource,
my talent alone exhorts,
all lesser breeds to cower, as I confound.
I'm an Officer of the Force,
PC Dogie O'Hound, of course.
I am a blooded lurcher of renown.

Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
Dogie O'Hound, the new hero is crowned,
who harries and worries, and hunts 'em down.

poem by David SmithWhite
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In the Droving Days

"Only a pound," said the auctioneer,
"Only a pound; and I'm standing here
Selling this animal, gain or loss --
Only a pound for the drover's horse?
One of the sort that was ne'er afraid,
One of the boys of the Old Brigade;
Thoroughly honest and game, I'll swear,
Only a little the worse for wear;
Plenty as bad to be seen in town,
Give me a bid and I'll knock him down;
Sold as he stands, and without recourse,
Give me a bid for the drover's horse."

Loitering there in an aimless way
Somehow I noticed the poor old grey,
Weary and battered and screwed, of course;
Yet when I noticed the old grey horse,
The rough bush saddle, and single rein
Of the bridle laid on his tangled mane,
Straighway the crowd and the auctioneer
Seemed on a sudden to disappear,
Melted away in a kind if haze --
For my heart went back to the droving days.

Back to the road, and I crossed again
Over the miles of the saltbush plain --
The shining plain that is said to be
The dried-up bed of an inland sea.
Where the air so dry and so clear and bright
Refracts the sun with a wondrous light,
And out in the dim horizon makes
The deep blue gleam of the phantom lakes.

At dawn of day we could feel the breeze
That stirred the boughs of the sleeping trees,
And brought a breath of the fragrance rare
That comes and goes in that scented air;
For the trees and grass and the shrubs contain
A dry sweet scent on the saltbush plain.
for those that love it and understand
The saltbush plain is a wonderland,
A wondrous country, were Nature's ways
Were revealed to me in the droving days.

We saw the fleet wild horses pass,
And kangaroos through the Mitchell grass;
The emu ran with her frightened brood
All unmolested and unpursued.
But there rose a shout and a wild hubbub
When the dingo raced for his native scrub,

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Saltbush Bill's Second Flight

The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large,
That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge,
Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh;
And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away:
For the name and the fame of Saltbush Bill were over the country-side
For the wonderful way that he fed his sheep, and the dodges and tricks he tried.
He would lose his way on a Main Stock Route, and stray to the squatters' grass;
He would come to a run with the boss away, and swear he had leave to pass;
And back of all and behind it all, as well the squatters knew,
If he had to fight, he would fight all day, so long as his sheep got through:
But this is the story of Stingy Smith, the owner of Hard Times Hill,
And the way that he chanced on a fighting man to reckon with Saltbush Bill.

'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring,
When he started at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with a jaunty swing;
For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track
Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back.
So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut, to ask could he camp the night;
But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and called to him, "Can you fight?"
"Why, what's the game?" said the clean-shaved tramp, as he looked at him up and down;
"If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown!
But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me -- it wouldn't be fair nor right;
I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight:
I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm trampin' back,
To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track."

"Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap," said Stingy Smith with glee,
"A bullying fellow called Saltbush Bill, and you are the man for me.
He's on the road with his hungry sheep, and he's certain to raise a row,
For he's bullied the whole of the Castlereagh till he's got them under cow --
Just pick a quarrel and raise a fight, and leather him good and hard,
And I'll take good care that his wretched sheep don't wander a half a yard.
It's a five-pound job if you belt him well -- do anything short of kill,
For there isn't a beak on the Castlereagh will fine you for Saltbush Bill."

"I'll take the job," said the fighting man; "and, hot as this cove appears,
He'll stand no chance with a bloke like me, what's lived on the game for years;
For he's maybe learnt in a boxing school, and sparred for a round or so,
But I've fought all hands in a ten-foot ring each night in a travelling show;
They earned a pound if they stayed three rounds, and they tried for it every night.
In a ten-foot ring! Oh, that's the game that teaches a bloke to fight,
For they'd rush and clinch -- it was Dublin Rules, and we drew no colour line;
And they all tried hard for to earn the pound, but they got no pound of mine.
If I saw no chance in the opening round I'd slog at their wind, and wait
Till an opening came -- and it always came -- and I settled 'em, sure as fate;
Left on the ribs and right on the jaw -- and, when the chance comes, make sure!
And it's there a professional bloke like me gets home on an amateur:
For it's my experience every day, and I make no doubt it's yours,
That a third-class pro is an over-match for the best of the amateurs --"
"Oh, take your swag to the travellers' hut," said Smith, "for you waste your breath;

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Gernutus the Jew of Venice

The First Part

In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lieth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurper,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.

His hearte doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all;
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:

Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day;

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Jacob Homnium’s Hoss

One sees in Viteall Yard,
Vere pleacemen do resort,
A wenerable hinstitute,
'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.
A gent as got his i on it,
I think 'twill make some sport.

The natur of this Court
My hindignation riles:
A few fat legal spiders
Here set spin their viles;
To rob the town theyr privlege is,
In a hayrea of twelve miles.

The Judge of this year Court
Is a mellitary beak,
He knows no more of Lor
Than praps he does of Greek,
And prowides hisself a deputy
Because he cannot speak.

Four counsel in this Court—
Misnamed of Justice—sits;
These lawyers owes their places to
Their money, not their wits;
And there's six attornies under them,
As here their living gits.

These lawyers, six and four,
Was a livin at their ease,
A sendin of their writs abowt,
And droring in the fees,
When their erose a cirkimstance
As is like to make a breeze.

It now is some monce since,
A gent both good and trew
Possest an ansum oss vith vich
He didn know what to do:
Peraps he did not like the oss;
Peraps he was a scru.

This gentleman his oss
At Tattersall's did lodge;
There came a wulgar oss-dealer,
This gentleman's name did fodge,
And took the oss from Tattersall's
Wasn that a artful dodge?

One day this gentleman's groom

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poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Mama Gave Birth To The Soul Children

[queen latifah]
Possy, dovey! (yes mama? ) time to get up!
Hello, Im queen latifah, how ya doing?
I hope that youre with this, I hope that youre willing
I want to introduce you to a cut called
Mama gave birth to the soul children
[dove]
Well here comes the goy (goy? )
The truth to the goy
You know the one, that ate up like boy
Stepping with a step, keeping with a kept
Making an appearance with a notty-head set
Lunatics you lose cause the plug 2s singing
Peace to the negative, nah, you make the weigh-in
Weigh-in, weigh-in, way out of order
If you know youre better, youd better that you caught a
Waving mine a peace sign higher than a kite
If youre feeling sick, its alright its fever night
Dont do do see do and dig in no potholes
Cause if you do we calling in march patrol
Its no different from the verbal last heard
Cayumbo is the ruler thats bond to the word
Hes moving more than three feet, jocking with the knee deep
Dove is going to leave you with a tweet tweet tweet
[posdnuos]
Next on the menu, we continue with the pasta
Dipped in chocolate, served with lotsa
Twizzlers and honey, yum yum yummy
Lyrics Im flaunting is good for the tummy
Tiptoing in I proceed to the floors
Selling much records like a pimp mover
Excuse me mommy, pos wins
Cause Im the a to the plug w-o-n
Brother freak it live for this tribe
Now lets ride down the highway of vibes
Pushing that we start cause the soul says please
Cutting back with the raps and we dont get cheese
Ducks and we sit need to get ? ? ? ?
Cause preacher is the key to the casualty
Polaroid flicks are back and you know
That the soul is moving on up like the jeffersons
Go mommy! (repeat 16x)
[queen latifah]
Im back, a black queen upon the scene
With a knack for funky tracks, know what I mean?
Prince paul produces this and its a fly one
It has a beat that weigh, hes one of my sons
Its a family affair and then were out of here
There is no doubt here, cause this is our year
So flex to a queen latifah/de la soul sound

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song performed by Queen Latifah
Added by Lucian Velea
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