Lyrics:
Goober on the sidewalk
He doesn't know better
Goober on the sidewalk
He's holding a letter
That his little fat momma sent him
To come back home
But he can't read that letter
His mom can't write, anyway
Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be goobers
Don't let your babies grow up
Don't let them grow up
Don't let them grow up
Goober on the sidewalk, walking real slow
Goober on the sidewalk, no he don't know
That we follow him in a car close behind
Because we know what is on his mind
He's thinking about how he'd like to eat a chili dawg
And how he loves to smell the city's strangling smog
He wants to know what that key in his hand opens
Whose garbage that is, and where he left his Star Wars men
Oh that goober! Won't he go home?
Where he belongs, where he belongs!
Instead of staying on the sidewalk
All day long, all the day long
That guys a goober . . .
Yeah, you know it's true . . .
Goober, goober goober
On the sidewalk . . .
| Notes:
The music provided by the classic Casio CT6000. And the Old Sears Drum Machine, the specific model# of which I do not know.
Based on, but different from, a song Jon wrote a few years before during the classic Casio CT-601 (like the one kswillis@midsouth.rr.com, or IM me on my AIM account at KevinAtEagle, or LuminousGrit, or ICQ me at ICQ#293261658. |