Bo Fo Sho Songtext
von Bo Burnham

Ok, on that note i′m going to rap.

Walkin' my poodles, man this never gets old,
With my dogs on my leash I′ve got bitches on the hold.
A first AIDS kit, that's a racist monkey,
I bust more nuts than a pistachio junkie.
I, I get more ass than a giant donkey stable,
I 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.

Hey, Jesus loves you as long as you're white,
Did you poop a virgin ′cause that shit is tight.
Hey, I'm blowin′ up like i thought i would,
I'm circumcised ′cause i don't come from the hood.


Yo, I do drugs in the bedroom lying your back,
'Cause i gots the pipe and you gots the crack.
Though I′m sexually straight, you′re bound to find I'm mentally gay,
′Cause I'll blow your mind, ma′am.
The parent's be snickering, he shouldn′t have written it,
But I'm constipated, I couldn't give a shit.
What, motherfucker, what, yo, he-he this kid′s a virgin.

My name is Bo Fo′ Sho'
A born Bostonian
Aryan librarian at the word Smithsonian.
The rap is scattered, it hides its ingenuity,
I gave it this little part to give it continuity.
Uh, fucking feel it, yeah.

Yo, huh, where are we?
And the fellas say: Hey moron pass the gin,
′Cause I'm an Oxymoron breathin′ Oxygen.
Gimme the bottle I'll chug two thirds,
′Cause you bitches know fractions speak louder than words, oh.

And the ladies say: Hey fellas, I'm keeping it tight,
And if you play your cards right, you can have me tonight.
Shall i blow you or beat you, brass or percussion?
Oh stop, period, end of discussion.


My name is Bo Fo' Sho′
A born Bostonian
Aryan librarian at the word Smithsonian.
The rap is scattered, it hides its ingenuity,
I gave it this little part to give it continuity.

Walkin′ through the garden, food at my feet,
Picked up the cellary, but dropped the beat.
Yeah, and then i picked it up.
(And then, if there was music, it would get faster)
Let's end this.

Yo, we′re in the hood,
I'll take what you give me.
Was Einstein′s theory good? Relatively.
A smart queen's kingdomn, it doesn′t mix.
A liter of literates, a bunch of Moby Dicks.
"Get thee to a punnery" oh-just-to-pheelia.
Take you with a condom, Stainless-steel ya.
Half a pound of turkey breast,
Half a pound of chicken tits.
Why are only crackers stayin' at the Ritz?
Poverty racism, isn't it strange,
That only the homeless are begging for change.
A shocked Sherlock,
What, son?
Rosa Parks, didn′t call "shotgun".
Here′s a little bit of irony,
A Ford Focus driver's got ADD.
How did i get to master all these things?
Like a tampon theif, i had to pull some strings.