* pre-release single; available only at the website
{*a parody of the 50 Cent song "Wanksta"*}
[Intro]
OK, who's next?
Hi, My name's Jason
And I'm going to sing Somewhere Over The Rainbow
OK. Go for it
(Really bad) Somewhere over the rainbow/ Way over there
Oh dear Lord..
[verse 1]
You think you's a pop star, but you need to stop singin'
I think you should leave now, till my ears have stopped ringin'
You can't sing worth shit, and you can't dance worth shit
What makes you think that if you cut a song it'd be a hit
We do this all the time, some people soundin' fine
But others sound like they're committing sins against mankind
This girl she looks fine, she wants to get signed
Her mouth opens and it sounds like gears when they grind
I tell them all the time, send shivers down my spine
They start to bitch and whine, and tell me I'm a swine
They think they sound like gold, and I'm the one they loathe
But they're all screamin' like they leaned against a hot stove
So I send them away, and they all feel betrayed
But even Paula doesn't have anything nice to say
[chorus]
You think you's a pop star, but you need to stop singin'
I think you should leave now, till my ears have stopped ringin'
When you try to hit a note, you sound like a sea lion
You been singin' for your whole life, you need to stop tryin' (repeat)
[verse 2]
Damn homie, you sound like
A dying lamb, homie, the hell's up with that?
And then up next is Loretta, and I'm sorry I met her
'Cause when she finished her song, I thought I'd need a rib spreader
She thinks that she can do better, sing just like Eddie Vedder
She thinks I'm out to get her, like I had a vendetta
She look good, but she howls like an Irish Setter
She's trying to start the song over but there's no way I'm-a let her
Get out now, stop the bleeding, don't wanna hear another word
'Cause you're the worst singer that I think I've ever heard
I've heard enough now, I'm suicidal
And she still thinks she's the next American Idol
(chorus)
You think you's an idol, but your sound is all dull
Awful and an eyefull, stole your style from Paula
You know that she's washed up, and that you're no heart-throb
You are absolutely ghastly, don't quit your day job
[verse 3]
Me I'm no monster, me I'm not raptor
Me I'm not mentor, me I'm just me, me
Me I'm no singer, me I'm no actor
But it's me who owns the record company
Now your singing baby was a total mess
You sang flatter than Ally McBeal's chest
And yet you think that you're good, and ready for prime time
But there's no future for you, well maybe as a mime
Losers sayin' that they don't like Simon Cowell
Is it because I kinda sound like Thurston Howell?
Or is it 'cause they know success takes more than just luck
And they know I'm right when I tell them they all suck
(chorus)
You think you's a pop star, but you need to stop buggin'
If you keep on singin', I'm-a put my ear plugs in
You ruined my favorite song, even screwed up the title
You're a disgrace, you're no American Idol
Next!
