JOHN
Good evening my name is John McCaine, and I invented micro chips. Who are all you people? My back support hurts, where my nurse?
BARACK STEPS UP AND SHOVES HIM OFF THE STAGE.
BARACK
America, suck on this.
TO THE TUNE OF 99 PROBLEMS
If you’re having girdle problems I feel sad for you gramps
I’ve got 99 problems but the Bitch ain’t one
I’ve got my wack Iraq, war backing votes
Foes that wanna make my war chests closed
Black critics say he dreary, trash, and not to black we suppose.
I’m Hollywood stupid, what type of facts are those
When no ones sure what wars you oppose.
You’d be celebrating the minute, McCaine starts to doze.
I’m like f**k critics you can kiss my whole asshole.
I’ve got beef with Appalachians cos you backed the hoe
They don’t praise my hits, I don’t give a shit SO.
Republican fags try and abuse my black ass
I don’t what you take me as,
Cos we see belligerent George Bush’s a spaz.
I’m from ritches bitches, I’m as street as BBC 1.
I’ve got 99 problems but the rich ain’t one.
Chorus
Now once upon a time not to long ago
A nigga like my self had to strong arm a hoe
A pussy having no God dam sense to try and push me
I tried to ignore her and talk to the Lord
Pray for her, cause her bloke loves to perform
You know the type sticking a cigar in a fat dyke
But wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight.
The only thing that’s gonna happen is I crash ‘em like a train in Clapham
Cos the super voters won’t back ‘em
And when the votes are cast I stack ‘em.
The Democarats are at my back, and McCaine your bladders gone slack.
Run against me, and you’re gonna get wacked.
The Next President’s gonna be black, now deal with that.
Chorus.
