Go ask Big Daddy, son,
Before you masturbate go ask Daddy.
He’s going torrent, he’s cutting out on the fun,
Not letting us have what he can’t have off ma lady.
Is it a doodling you wanna do, son,
Or is it a triangle and a rhombus you gonna draw?
Get the signature of the almighty one
In triplicate, do: that’s the method; law.
String a dumbbell down your penis unless erections
May show when you may go by a relevant vaati.
When you set out to do some thinking your selections
Of your thoughts better fit the bill, the colour of the party.
Big Daddy sings songs to the chillun,
To their mammies and the coarse-smiling dickwits
And preaches so we may sidestep from the villain
And our chillun’s chillun may never be grown to fuck tits.
Son, no holding hands in public, no makin love,
Cover girls go home you hurt daddy conscience,
Or make it through the side gates if you can somehow
To the blessed parties of the chosen mansions.