I remember a few years back, at a party at the “Bonehouse,” launching into a drunken and a-capella “They Want Efx” by Das EFX at poor Duncan, who started out with this bemused look on his face, which rapidly turned into awe. After I finished the first verse, he asked “Is that from something, or did you just make that up.”
I’m flattered that anyone would think I could possibly have written the following:
Bum stiggedy bum stiggedy bum, hon, I got the old pa-rum-pum-pum-pum
But I can fe-fi-fo-diddly-fum, here I come
So Peter Piper, I’m hyper than pinoccio’s nose
Im the supercalafragilistic tic-tac pro
I gave my oopsy, daisy, now you’ve got the crazy
Crazy with the books, googley-goo where’s the gravy
So one two, unbuckle my, um shoe
Yabba doo, hippity-hoo, crack a brew
So trick or treat, smell my feet, yup I drippedy-dropped a hit
So books get on your mark and spark that old censorship
Drats and double drats, I smiggedy-smacked some whiz kids
The boogedy-woogedly brooklyn boys about to get his, dig
My waist bone’s connected to my hip bone
My hip bone’s connected to my thigh bone
My thigh bone’s connected to my knee bone
My knee bone’s connected to my hardy-har-har-har
The jibbedy-jabber jaw ja-jabbing at your funny bone, um
Skip the ovaltine, Id rather have a honeycomb
Or preferably the sesame, lets spiggedy-spark the blunts, um
Dun dun dun dun dun, dun dunI’m going to see DJ Shadow on Tuesday with Duncan, largely ’cause he still hands me craziness of the audio variety once in a while, and ’cause I feel like he knows, y’know?
