*takes breath of oxygen machine*
I can’t grow some wings and fly around the sky
I can’t run around the hood acting like I’m fly
I can’t watch Twilight without bursting out in laughs
…and I can’t help but chuckle at toppled over giraffes
When listening to my music, I can’t help but sing
I can’t succeed at a good baseball swing
For the love of god, I can’t finish anything I…uh, drew
That’s something I can’t do
I’d have to admit that rhyming is getting kind of hard
I guess I’m sort of a hip-hop retard
Sometimes when watching chick-flicks I can’t hold myself back
It ends up on my blog along with complaints about the new Mac
I’ll admit that I’m not perfect
In fact, I’m kind of wrecked
But I can take pride in the fact
That at least when I fall it isn’t a celestial impact
(Oh god, that was so dorky, no wonder you can’t get laid)
Shut up, you asshole, for this I’m getting paid
(This is the only job you could do, you two-bit hack)
At least I can wait until I’m in private to give myself a whack
I can’t fathom why you folks are negative to so many things, like
New games that haven’t hit the shelf, or the Third Reich
(A quick disclaimer, that was just for the sake of rhymes)
(As we haven’t supported the Nazis, not even one time)
(Except for Inglorious Basterds, which was a damned good show)
(I have to admit that this song has a surprisingly good flow)
I can’t understand why the trolls here are so bad
It really makes me kind of sad
And another thing before we get off this subject
I don’t get why they get so much respect
It just doesn’t make any sense
And it makes you guys look kind of dense
I’ll admit that I’m not perfect
In fact, I’m kind of wrecked
But I can take pride in the fact
That at least when I fall it isn’t a celestial impact
(Oh god, that was so dorky, no wonder you can’t get laid)
Shut up, you asshole, for this I’m getting paid
(This is the only job you could do, you two-bit hack)
At least I can wait until I’m in private to give myself a whack
And while I can’t ride a bike, or get a fucking Mew
I’m just glad that I’m not you
And while I don’t watch Glee
I can at least take solace that I can count past three
And while I can’t argue with you, in fear I’d laugh to hard and piss my pants
At least I don’t have testicular implants
And while I can’t jump more than two inches off the ground
At least I can speak proper English, despite how my usage is profound
And while I’m asked by leprechauns to burn things,
At least I have just one "thing"
I’ll admit that I’m not perfect
In fact, I’m kind of wrecked
But I can take pride in the fact
That at least when I fall it isn’t a celestial impact
(Oh god, that was so dorky, no wonder you can’t get laid)
Shut up, you asshole, for this I’m getting paid
(This is the only job you could do, you two-bit hack)
At least I can wait until I’m in private to give myself a whack