And the peaches and the mangoes
That you could sell for me

What do you think my brain is made for
Is it just a container for the mind?
This great grey matter
Sensei replied, "What is your woman?
Is she just a container for the child?"
That soft pink matter
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh
Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you
My God, she's giving me pleasure

What if the sky and the stars are for show
And the aliens are watching live
From the purple matter?
Sensei went quiet then violent
And we sparred until we both grew tired
Nothing mattered
Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, oh, oh
Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you
My God, giving me pleasure
Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure
Pleasure over matter

Hey, hey
Since you been gone, I been having withdrawals
You were such a habit to call
I ain't myself at all, had to tell myself, "Naw
She better with some fella with a regular job."
I didn't wanna get her involved
By dinner Mr. Benjamin was sitting in awe
Hopped into my car; drove far
Far's too close and I remember my memory's no sharp
Butter knife, what a life, anyway
I'm building y'all a clock, stop, what am I, Hemingway?
She had the kind of body that would probably intimidate
Any of 'em that were un-southern, not me, cousin
If models are made for modeling
Thick girls are made for cuddling
Switch worlds and we can huddle then
Who needs another friend? I need to hold your hand
You'd need no other man, we'd flee to other lands

Grey matter
Blue used to be my favorite color
Now I ain't got no choice
Blue matter

You're good at being bad, you're bad at being good
For heaven's sakes, go to hell, nah, knock on wood, hey
You're good at being bad (You're bad at being good)
For heaven's sakes, go to hell
For heaven's sakes, go to hell
Knock, knock, knock, knock on wood
Well, frankly, when that ocean so motherfucking good
Make her swab the motherfucking wood
Make her walk the motherfucking plank
Make her rob a motherfucking bank
With no mask on and a rusty revolver