the HUMDINGER


If the world hands you a lemon, then give the lemon AIDS
blame it on a monkey and ship the dead away
pretend it never happened then find a handy scapegoat
just in case a curious George happens to take note
get the alibis air tight like a small pair of Jordans
hide the pain of an orphan
fresh dressed like a million pesos
but conversion rates speak greek to the caseloads
hate grows in minds made with permanent ink
it's easier to know than it is to think
a spoonful of sugar helps the hooker go down nights
so now you kinda wonder what it might sound like

I used to hold grudges long enough to wear them smooth
but that got old and then my calluses grew
it became difficult to hold a pen correctly
letting my disdain for the trends affect me
instead of writing songs about stuff that fascinated me
no peace, the robeasts grew strong from A to Z
the world was creeping in and leaving stern dreams
but anger's a great fuel that never burns clean
you might catch me tuning into the pop station
out of morbid curiosity I guess, raising
expectations getting lowered again
the drink didn't work so I sober the pen

Who locks the strange and daily life this nice?
boombox acclaim with phrases mic'd slick like
if only Richard Dumas hadn't gone and hit pipes
remember Shawn Kemp before he got to blimp size?
Derrick Coleman rocking BK Dymacels
and bright as hell Cross Colors were tight as well
single file, emory board on memory lane
Stacey Augmon was a great who never became
I can't forget Starks throwing down on Horace Grant and MJ
had the poster on my wall the next Wednesday
pick and roll with Ewing out at the perimeter
I'd watch the move and then become a mimicker
I couldn't really jump but could imagine it well
a chest-beating Knick fan, trapped in the spell

When you say Why Nona?
imma say 'Marvin Gaye's daughter is tight"
now check me slaughter the mic
you might be talking about the shovel jawed porkchop sis of Ashley Judd
just pass me love and that's enough
There isn’t a place that couldn’t be improved with a hammock
Bats in my bell freeze and a few loose in the attic
move with dramatic flair? nah, that's the breakers, poppers and lockers
me, I walk awkward, trying to talk and prosper
left foot pointing northwest, the other is due north
encompassing two left feet when I move forth
I suck at dancing, when no one's around, I might twitch
it's like this, I'd confuse a psychic sidekick
high as a Greg Kite puffing on 96 thai sticks
through a set of vice grips, so let it slide miss

I’m stepping on more toes than a monster truck
here's five fingers to all the comp that sucks
you're not worth the effort of my holding up a finger
So like Puba, here's the Humdinger


S. Bryden for Slingvoltage (ASCAP)