Little Richard Listens to Pat Boone Sing “Tutti Frutti”
If could, and I bet I could, hell-I know I could
write a song that killed anyone who tried
to wrap their throat around it. I’m writing the first
verse right now, riding the rhythm like your mama
straddling the preacher while your daddy looks on
with a mouth full of every moan he can’t have.
Ain’t that what you really want? A stadium full
of white people screaming your stage name
and a smashed guitar where your dick used to be.
Ain’t that what you deserve? God is the only reason
I haven’t already held you down and spat the hook
into your mouth like a poison that will kill us both.