After a brief inventory of my life, I came to the realization that I’ve never written a top-40 song. Technically, I’ve never actually written a bottom-40 song either. With apologies to actual songwriters everywhere, and to my long-time follower, the fabulous yet M.I.A. FreddyFlow, I offer my first attempt at songwriting since having my heart broken in 7th grade. (Please disregard the fact that I’m a middle-aged, lily-white suburbanite and just accept the fact that anyone with basic cable has access to both MTV and re-runs of “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air”)
-:-
You so damn fine,
Playin handball in my mind,
You been runnin laps-es,
All up in my synapses,
-:-
Went three blocks out my way,
Just watchin how you sway,
Girl then we got to talkin’,
Once you finally finished walkin’,
-:-
I listened for a minute,
N I quickly reached my limit,
I think you better go back,
N take another Prozac,
-:-
You look as hot as Tempe,
But yo pretty skull is empty,
You might look fine to Hef,
Got me wishin’ I was deaf,
-:-
(Chorus)
Flakey like a biscuit, a bis-cuit, a bis-cuit,
Flakey like a biscuit – every time I hear you speak,
Aint no amount of butter,
Can cover what you utter,
You flakey like a biscuit and that aint no way to be,
-:-
I’m-a leave you standin’ here,
Get some cotton for my ears,
Don’t need no selfish chatter,
All up in my gray matter,
-:-
You make a sexy picture,
But your brain is like a mixture,
It might be two parts moon rays,
N five more parts of cray-cray,
-:-
Got a ego like The Donald,
Suck attention like a funnel,
When your ruby lips start movin’,
Your appearance stops improvin’,
-:-
(Chorus)
Flakey like a biscuit, a bis-cuit, a bis-cuit,
Flakey like a biscuit every time I hear you speak,
Aint no amount of butter,
Can cover what you utter,
Flakey like a biscuit and that aint no way to be,
-:-
Dr. Phil don’t want no part,
Of your nasty, mangled heart,
There aint no magic tonic,
Can cure a true moronic,
-:-
You like a box from Russell Stover,
Filled with turds from my dog Rover,
Lookin’ fine that candy shell,
Chewy center – nasty smell,
-:-
Aint too deep inside yo mind,
No diving please, you break yo spine,
Need no lifeguard on the side,
Shallow here – my socks are dry,
-:-
(Chorus)
Flakey like a biscuit, a bis-cuit, a bis-cuit,
Flakey like a biscuit – every time I hear you speak,
Aint no amount of butter,
Can cover what you utter,
You flakey like a biscuit and that aint no way to be
1pointperspective 