"Please, state you're name for the record"
Hello, I'm Henry...
"Thank you"
[Chorus x1]
State you're name for the record, it's best to count your blessings
Give us your whereabouts for the time and question
You're accused for having taken part in illegal rhyming sessions
How do you plead, you damn dirty slimey pessant
[Verse 1]
Well, certain times, but I'm not sure the word is right
But you can call me a certified nursery rhyme
maker, working double shift working thirty-five
days a monthy, hectic, but it's working fine
A loner, yeah, you heard it right, I'm not the flirty kind
On the surface I'm a nervous guy, but you should see my dirty mind
Well, actually, it's not that bad, if you search, you'll find
That I wouldn't hurt a fly, except maybe certain typesThat are wearing shirts and ties,
but that's evil in its worst disguise
But I find it unfair that you're chasing me with these accusations
Trying to hurt my long lost reputations
Now people I know are acting like they never heard of Henry
Guess that sweet girl I fancy, called Luck, has turned against me
When the divorce of Mrs. Fortune - she turns Misfortune
And it's causing distortion on that sweet feeling some would call harmony
So with caution I caress her sweet cheak
And try to figure out why she's mad, 'cause it beats me
[Chorus x2]
[Verse 2]
I guess I'm guilty, Your Honor, hallelujah, morning glory
Waking up once again to the same old boring story
Just waiting for the whole hiphop business to sue me
Yeah, it is the truth, kid, you either win it or lose it
And get your head stuck in a can just like Winnie The Puh did
And here I am, trying to reach that last drop of honey
Better get my ass up and running, 'cause the rap cops are coming
Blinded by hate they're trying to make a fast buck or something
Now each one of these wanna-be's are trying to make fun of me
There's no laughing-matter, half my life's a bitch, the other half is shattered
people call me a bum and now my ass is flattered
I sample the soundtrack of my daydream, and I use it on my record
Now excuse me for a second while I sit and get relaxed
I'm getting tired of doing shows with all these big-headed acts
And most of the time I don't get paid a dime for 'em
My favourite shows are when kids stopping me in the street and ask me to rhyme for 'em
I'm breaking rules and regulations every time the beat drops
People say I'm underground, but I'm actually rhymin' in a tree-top
Where I let my words rest in a birds nest
Until they're ready to be airborne, before then they're worthless
But so y'all screaming curses; "Word smith"
"He's just a freak poet, and he belongs in a circus"
But do I really deserve this? Overdose of anger and fury you describe
Well, I guess that's up to the jury to decide
[Chorus x2]
