"Yes I Am An Alien"
Bam! I’ll explode, just like I were a bomb
flying over Vietnam high with my Uncle Tom.
Or sitting in a cabin having a sip of tea,
while a parrot sings a song in the minor key of C,
to inspire me, so we will see,
this neurotic harmony that develops sonically.
I’ll be writing my plan out with a needle,
I’ll make you twist and shout and think I was Beatle.
Like Lennon or Stalin in a car that won’t start,
if your Volvo is stallin’ then you need to learn the art
of mechanics. Don’t panic, even though I’m galvanic!
I’m the only non-Hispanic on the Mexican Titanic.
My loops go round and round, just like a carousel,
coming out my BR-8, like I was William Tell.
If you haven’t heard my name, I hope it rings a bell,
because I’m the only guy
who knows what happened at Roswell.
Yes I’m an alien, I come from outer space.
Yes I’m an alien, I’m going to rock this place.
Some people say I’m not funny, I say okay,
I can’t sell records here, I’m huge in the UK.
British people tell me to keep rocking on,
you might have heard me down in London
rocking heads with this song.
I was sad when I found out about Santa Claus,
so I made like Tim Allen and broke some local laws.
I moved way up north and grew a beard,
now relatives and friends think I’m kind of weird.
But did you think I was heretic when I danced in that church
like an unemployed crustacean chewing on a birch?
I’m addicted to shark meat and books by Mark Twain
and eating Novocain shipped from the Ukraine.
My name’s not Matthew, but thanks for asking!
I live in California, because I’m not Alaskan.
But that’s okay, what can I say?
My real home is actually light years away.
You want poetry? Go read Robert Frost,
the simile in hip-hop is essentially lost,
like a tearful pallbearer carrying a body,
or a giant pink Care Bare acting snotty.
Where can it go? I just don’t know,
but check out this funky alphabet flow:
it’s like A-B-C-D-E-F-G-
H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P, and ICP on LSD
or ABC or MTV or the new PC
you got for free from
Circuit City in Albuquerque.
I be the VIP MC on this CD,
the name’s MC Lars Horris, as you can see.
So where do I start, and where do I begin?
Yo, it’s tough to be a funky fresh alien.
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