November 16, 2005

MILKY, MILKY COCOA PUFF

I like to think I'm an educated man, a deep thinker, a human being who wonders about his place in the world, the confounding issues that define our age and the solutions that mankind needs to achieve so it can set a bold path for the future.

I think about the spiritual thirst that resides within us all, about the way we search for meaning, about the struggle between destiny, ambition and desire. About what makes us whole, what lights our candle of intelligence, about the universe and the simple power of one, solitary action within it.

I like to think that about myself. But I can't fully commit to that distinguished self concept because I've had this running through my head all week:

"My Humps"

What you goní do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
Iíma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps. (Check it out)

I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ice-ys.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and then Donna
Karan, they be shariní
All their money got me wearin' fly
But I ainít askin,
They say they love my ass Ďn,
Seven Jeans, True Religion's,
I say no, but they keep giviní
So I keep on takiní
And no I ainít taken
We can keep on datiní
I keep on demonstrating.

My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps,
My hump, my hump, my hump,
My humps they got u,
Sheís got me spending.
(Oh) Spendiní all your money on me and spending time on me.
Sheís got me spendiní.
(Oh) Spendiní all your money on me, on me, on me

What you goní do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
Iíma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What u goní do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
Iím a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps. (Check it out)

I met a girl down at the disco.
She said hey, hey, hey yea letís go.
I could be your baby, you can be my honey
Lets spend time not money.
I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.

Posted by Jeff at November 16, 2005 08:53 AM
Comments

Okay, it's one thing to have a song trapped inside your head. Quite another to post every strange and strangely exciting lyric.

Too bad you didn't post the song itself. I'd like me some humps right about now.

Posted by: kate at November 16, 2005 11:57 AM

at least it's in your head. when i get ludacris stuck in mine there's nothing i can do short of going to sleep to stop myself from screaming: back seat windows UP! that's the way you like to FUCK!

it goes over really well on a full metro car.

Posted by: inconspicuous attack toad at November 16, 2005 05:42 PM

It's OK to be a deep thinker and love your ass.

Posted by: Lynne at November 17, 2005 10:32 AM

LOL! yeah, that's deep alright.
or deeply disturbing

Posted by: Laura at November 17, 2005 03:46 PM

LOL! That song gets stuck in my head all the time too!

Posted by: Sarah at November 19, 2005 04:51 PM

Diabolical. Thanks for giving ME the ear-clap.

Posted by: Margi at November 20, 2005 11:52 PM

i dont get the meaning!

Posted by: at January 21, 2006 03:31 PM
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