My Soul Ain't Got No Soul
from: Deeply Flawed
CHORUS
My soul ain't got no soul and my rhythm gives me the blues
It ain't that I'm too old, it aint a product of my youth
My mojo is a no go and there's nothing I can do
Cause my soul ain't got no soul and my rhythm gives me the blues
My sister's brother's roomate comes from Montgomery Alabam
Once she marched on Selma with a peace sign in her hand
Now she's stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again
Cause her and Dr. King know things that I can't understand
Well my momma never cooked me no peculiar cuts of pork
No par boiled pan fried pickled pig parts pick the meat out with your fork
I ain't from one of those black neighborhoods in New York
And once I wrote a rap song but i sounded like M.C. Dork
CHORUS
Ain't no one in my family that's ever been lynched
But once I tied my tie to tight and my neck got kind of pinched Hitler shot some of my relatives and some others got quite singed
But here in the new world my people fit right in
Well I cain't say James and Stevie were my childhood teachers
Although I do like Oprah I'm more Kathy Lee and Regis
I never went to revival, sang what a friend we have in Jesus
Now my grandma starts a seance every time I sneezes
CHORUS
Well my family looks like they was painted by Norman Rockwell on crack
My grandma's got a steel knee both my uncle's eyes are black
My dad's new wife and I used to date a few years back
Well my family looks like they was painted by Norman Rockwell on crack
Well my family looks like they was painted by Michelangelo on ludes
Sitting round the Thanksgiving table calling out for food
Some of us is clothed and some of us is nude
Well my family looks like they was painted by Michelangelo on ludes
CHORUS
Well I tried to learn the electric slide but you know I just can't get that
I studied it on Soul Train but I'm a white guy in an X hat
I can't think of no cool moniker and that's just the latest setback
I told this fly girl I was ady-ad, but she gave me a big smack
Well I reckon I could use a posse to make me feel more funky
And try like Marky Mark to forget that I'm a honky
Maybe write an ode to a woman's tush and how I like it chunky
But if I told her she was all that and a bag of chips do you think that she would want me
CHORUS
My soul ain't got no soul and my rhythm gives me the blues
It ain't that I'm too old, it aint a product of my youth
My mojo is a no go and there's nothing I can do
Cause my soul ain't got no soul and my rhythm gives me the blues
My sister's brother's roomate comes from Montgomery Alabam
Once she marched on Selma with a peace sign in her hand
Now she's stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again
Cause her and Dr. King know things that I can't understand
Well my momma never cooked me no peculiar cuts of pork
No par boiled pan fried pickled pig parts pick the meat out with your fork
I ain't from one of those black neighborhoods in New York
And once I wrote a rap song but i sounded like M.C. Dork
CHORUS
Ain't no one in my family that's ever been lynched
But once I tied my tie to tight and my neck got kind of pinched Hitler shot some of my relatives and some others got quite singed
But here in the new world my people fit right in
Well I cain't say James and Stevie were my childhood teachers
Although I do like Oprah I'm more Kathy Lee and Regis
I never went to revival, sang what a friend we have in Jesus
Now my grandma starts a seance every time I sneezes
CHORUS
Well my family looks like they was painted by Norman Rockwell on crack
My grandma's got a steel knee both my uncle's eyes are black
My dad's new wife and I used to date a few years back
Well my family looks like they was painted by Norman Rockwell on crack
Well my family looks like they was painted by Michelangelo on ludes
Sitting round the Thanksgiving table calling out for food
Some of us is clothed and some of us is nude
Well my family looks like they was painted by Michelangelo on ludes
CHORUS
Well I tried to learn the electric slide but you know I just can't get that
I studied it on Soul Train but I'm a white guy in an X hat
I can't think of no cool moniker and that's just the latest setback
I told this fly girl I was ady-ad, but she gave me a big smack
Well I reckon I could use a posse to make me feel more funky
And try like Marky Mark to forget that I'm a honky
Maybe write an ode to a woman's tush and how I like it chunky
But if I told her she was all that and a bag of chips do you think that she would want me
CHORUS