Bo’ Fo’ Sho’ lyrics

See you later, incredibly hot chick! Come back any time and do sexual things, like how we were just doing. Oh hey! Uh, ok, this is a new rap. Um, I'm Bo Burnham. This one is just straight wordplay, no gimmicks, just lyricism. Rock that beat, honey.

Yeah

Walking my poodles, man it never gets old

When my dog's on the leash I got bitches on the hold

A first A.I.D.S. kit? That's a rhesus monkey

I bust more nuts than a pistachio junkie

I get more ass than a giant donkey stable

Got more lines than Whitney Houston's coffee table

I get more head than grammar school lice

I'm like a walking glacier, I'm so decked out with ice

Did you poop a virgin, 'cause that shit is tight

Jack ain't Black and Barry ain't White

I do drugs in the bedroom

Lie on your back

'Cause I gots the pipe and you gots the crack

And though I'm sexually straight, you're bound to find

I'm mentally gay, 'cause I'll blow your mind

The parents be snickering, "He shouldn't have written it,"

But I'm constipated--couldn't give a shit

My name is Bo, fo sho, a born Bostonian

Aryan librarian and the wordsmith--sonian

The rap is scattered, it has its ingenuity

I gave it this little part to give it continuity

And the fellas say, "Hey moron, pass the gin,"

'Cause I'm an oxymoron breathing oxygen

Give me the bottle, I'll chug two thirds

'Cause you bitches know fractions speak louder than words

And the ladies say, "Hey fellas, I'm keeping it tight

And if you play your cards right, you can have me tonight

Should I blow you or beat you, brass or percussion

Oh stop, period, end of discussion

Walking through the garden with food at my feet

Picked up the celery but dropped the beet

And then I picked it up

Yeah

Listen

We're in the hood, I'll take what you give me

Was Einstein's theory good? Relatively

A smart queen's kingdom? It doesn't mix

Illiterate literates, a bunch of Moby Dicks

Get thee to a punnery, oh just a feel yah

Take you with a condom, stainless steel yah

Half a pound of turkey breast, half a pound of chicken tits

Why are only crackers staying at the Ritz?

Poverty, racism, isn't it strange? Only the homeless are begging for change

A shocked Sherlock. What, son? Rosa Parks didn't call shotgun

Here's a bit of irony: a Ford Focus driver's got A.D.D

How'd I come to master all of these things?

Like a tampon thief, I had to pull some strings

I had to pull some strings!

That's a rap!

• Artist:Bo Burnham