I'm 'onna drive my van through the plate-glass window Of your heart. I'm 'onna drive my van through the Styrofoam-brick wall Also of your heart. I'm 'onna wrap my chains 'round the muscle and veins Once again, of your heart. I'm 'onna put my fist through the side of the cranium Of the side of your Cranium. ¡B-A-, B-A-R-A-K-A-S-, B-A-B-Y-, don't settle fo' less than B-A-,B-A-R-A-K-A-S-, B.A. BARAKAS! ¿Who is this apparician with the feathers 'n' chains, Who bullies the dull life, and rapes the mundane? ¿Who's the subject of this white-boy's modest refrains between a Micro-tape recording 'n' "¡Look, Ma, No Brainz!"? B-A-, B-A-R-A-K-A-S- Is just an educated guess. ¡B-A-, B-A-R-A-K-A-S- B.A. BARAKAS! Guitly of vehicular assault, they threw him in jail, Not even 80 pounds of necklace could cover the bail, and they Sentenced him, from Now to The World's End, to Convert to Islam And be someone's Girlfriend, but B.A. became the best Daddy on his cellblock, A black Adonis, bringing the shellshock, All the boys from cellblocks A through Z, would let BARAKAS drive 'em like he drove that GMC, all the Thugs 'n' the Thieves, 'n' even The Fonze, were all Putty in his mitts 'n' Sheathes on his schwanz, Even the 300-pound-guys, The Meanest-Around-Guys, Confessed he was the best man at Rammin' the round-eye, NOW B.A. DON'T WANT CASH, 'N' B.A. DON'T SMOKE GRASS, B.A. DON'T WANT YO' PUSSY, HE'LL GO STRAIGHT FO' YO' ASS And if you listen real close, about a quarter to 2, You'll hear the heavy-breathin', sugar-mouthed white women coo, "¡Aww, B-A- B-A-R-A-K-A-S- B-A-B-Y-Ohhh, FUCK yes!" B-A-, B-A-R-A-K-A-S- B.A. BARAKAS. The children cheer, The neighbors jeer, The sugar-mouthed white women Ice their rears, 'n' The mothers sneer, The white man's fear sets Civil rights back another fifteen years, 'n' they blame B-A-,B-A-R-A-K-A-S- "Hulk Hogan scares us FAR LESS than B-A-,B-A-R-A-K-A-S- B.A. Barakas. "¡Look who's here to save your farm, with a Watermelon on each arm and a B-A-,B-A-N-J-O-, it's TAP-DANCE BARAKAS!" He'll defy your histrionics, And occasionally phonics, but He's a social tonic, rising Up from the fracas. ¡He'll make that H-U-L-K H-O-G-A-N- Look like a gay librarian, he's B-A-,B-A-R-A-K-A-S- BAD-ASS BARAKAS!