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!