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Barefootin' on the Wicket Picket Lyrics

Alkaloid Joe, a real m***
Hauled a wheelbarrow of Peruvian blow
Some San Jose pimps from across the track
Bought a week's supply of the wack attack
There was a Houston player who made p**** with cattle
And some child molesters from a town called Seattle
When the bat flew off the bottle of Bacardi
Some b**** screamed, "It looks like a m***********' party"

No one who thought it was a movie or a dream
Would've thrown rice at this wedding scene
The ball became even more surreal
Presenting Black Randy with his fishing creel

He reached inside and started to kneel
In each manicured hand was a two foot eel
He said, "I've got a long black eel and nowhere to stick it
So I'm barefootin' on the wicked picket"

Hey Tom, you feel for this eel?
Man, this eel's for real
Hey Bob, how do you feel?
My feelings are difficult to conceal
Joe, what does your research reveal?
Well you know Dave, it's been a three eel day
Ladies and gentlemen, the hardest working band in show business
The mighty Metropolitan Squad
It's always very special when you find a friend, find a friend, find a friend
Someone on whom you know you can depend, can depend, can depend
Someone who will stick by you until the end, til the end, til the end
Someone who always knows just what to do, where to turn, and when to bend

The eels with a squeal crawled out of their bucket
Found a tight hole and proceeded to f*** it
Pimps and f*****s alike were delighted
And some of the ladies got too d*** excited
Randy said, "Sure as my d*** ain't no candle
There's some things in that tackle box too hot to handle"
Delores paid no mind to Randy's aside
And pulled out a serpent who'd been electrified

There was stax of volts layin all over the ground
And all you could hear was that low humming sound
The viper showed no mercy on his new date Delores
And plugged his hot charge in her stankin c*******

The b****'s a** lit up like yo mama's chanukah bush
And it spelled out a message with a product to push
It said, "I've got a long black eel and nowhere to stick it
So I'm barefootin' on the wicked picket"
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Pass the Dust, I Think I'm Bowie (1980)
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