The Gus Haynes Cribbage League
🎵 3638 characters
⏱️ 5:50 duration
🆔 ID: 2901959
📜 Lyrics
I did my best
But I guess my best wasn't good enough
Your pretty Pinterest board ran out of spackle
And we allowed Adidas to market shoes with shackles
I wish I was more like Gus Haynes
Sticking it to the white man through all of my gut pains
You're a white supremist if you wonder what country Obama was birthed in
And went all through high school never reading Zora Neale Hurston
I promise, I'll be as pompous as I want to be
And exploit affirmative action to cash in on this Bachelor's degree
I'm going to write some gibberish and call it "ethnic fiction"
Right after I start an all-black cribbage league
Our club mascot is Huey Newton's ashy knee
We're repping meta postmodernity
Until my home is burdened by non-functional furnishings
I got hair like a pad of Brillo
And date girls whose dad could be Don DeLillo
What's the price on my dignity plus damages
Inflicted on my self esteem through ignorance and ham sandwiches?
You'll need a larger hedonic calculator
The only black fantasy characters are always grouchy satyrs
I'm in an alley shouting lines from the Credo
Pages stained red from all these flaming hot Cheetos
In my computer chair with a face full of [yolk strands?]
Frantically searching the internet for all-brown folk bands
Couldn't get signed because my areolae aren't heart-shaped
Well, that's certainly a dark fate
No worries, there's still hope for me
My pan-African hoodie reeks of cocoa butter and potpourri
Yea, you just downloaded the red heron 1000
The black opinion splicer, the Donna Karan of pun jousting
So white tycoons have a baby blood and a caligula making up
My crazy duds are straight bare and [munchausen?]
Oh what my wooly mane, it filters poison out the gentle breeze
Applaud me as I dunk hoops, my sub-group is special needs
Yep, marred to the [?] of a [?]
These Eldridge Cleaver baby tees are a far cry from leadership
But it's so legit, here's your ID about to go and punch a card
You might need a [?]
D.O. to [?] take his black cobra hiss
Oh you think I like to protest? Do you think I'm pro-rich?
Oh, well I guess I'm black, I just didn't think that you noticed
Your quiet disdain for black males makes me motion sick
That's why I'm a sourpuss, swag stays on our books
Hunched over a power book I'm posting pics of my swollen prick
Against exposed brick
I'm [?]
Trapped like a goldfish
Oh my lungs, they're two [atavistic?] steamboats
Filled with negroe spirit holes and a sweet cream for that brioche
And I guess you're right man my weed's rich in chlorophyll
My [jacklit?] is cornmeal and my diploma is an orange peel
And my sense of rhythm acts like a force field
Protecting me from you, or you from me
(Tone it down, 'driver)
What's that in your gun holster?
Oh this is the de-negro-tiser
I shoot myself with it until I'm whiter than Peter Piper
Now I'll be able to bow before a world leaders maître
Until then the shackles on my Adidas sneakers need to be tighter
Cause right now man, I'm free like a zebra in Zaire
So I'll hop in a time machine to have my litigens wiped clean
And I'll entertain yuppies as they buy tight jeans and thai cuisine
Gus Haynes
I did my best
But I guess my best wasn't good enough
I be in the club draped in BUFU
Throwing hexes, voodoo
Black magic, juju
That's why I ain't mad when they watch the throne
Go ahead and let Waka Flocka dip his Glock in chrome
Make an interviewer call me Bruce Wavy like I'm Max B
No doubt I've read more Nietzsche than what they've asked of me
But these bastards will make a plaster cast of me
Guy Fieri-narrated biopic of Malcolm-Jamal Warner
In my utopia Nu Gingrich is an illegal foreigner
Diners, drive-ins and dives
But I guess my best wasn't good enough
Your pretty Pinterest board ran out of spackle
And we allowed Adidas to market shoes with shackles
I wish I was more like Gus Haynes
Sticking it to the white man through all of my gut pains
You're a white supremist if you wonder what country Obama was birthed in
And went all through high school never reading Zora Neale Hurston
I promise, I'll be as pompous as I want to be
And exploit affirmative action to cash in on this Bachelor's degree
I'm going to write some gibberish and call it "ethnic fiction"
Right after I start an all-black cribbage league
Our club mascot is Huey Newton's ashy knee
We're repping meta postmodernity
Until my home is burdened by non-functional furnishings
I got hair like a pad of Brillo
And date girls whose dad could be Don DeLillo
What's the price on my dignity plus damages
Inflicted on my self esteem through ignorance and ham sandwiches?
You'll need a larger hedonic calculator
The only black fantasy characters are always grouchy satyrs
I'm in an alley shouting lines from the Credo
Pages stained red from all these flaming hot Cheetos
In my computer chair with a face full of [yolk strands?]
Frantically searching the internet for all-brown folk bands
Couldn't get signed because my areolae aren't heart-shaped
Well, that's certainly a dark fate
No worries, there's still hope for me
My pan-African hoodie reeks of cocoa butter and potpourri
Yea, you just downloaded the red heron 1000
The black opinion splicer, the Donna Karan of pun jousting
So white tycoons have a baby blood and a caligula making up
My crazy duds are straight bare and [munchausen?]
Oh what my wooly mane, it filters poison out the gentle breeze
Applaud me as I dunk hoops, my sub-group is special needs
Yep, marred to the [?] of a [?]
These Eldridge Cleaver baby tees are a far cry from leadership
But it's so legit, here's your ID about to go and punch a card
You might need a [?]
D.O. to [?] take his black cobra hiss
Oh you think I like to protest? Do you think I'm pro-rich?
Oh, well I guess I'm black, I just didn't think that you noticed
Your quiet disdain for black males makes me motion sick
That's why I'm a sourpuss, swag stays on our books
Hunched over a power book I'm posting pics of my swollen prick
Against exposed brick
I'm [?]
Trapped like a goldfish
Oh my lungs, they're two [atavistic?] steamboats
Filled with negroe spirit holes and a sweet cream for that brioche
And I guess you're right man my weed's rich in chlorophyll
My [jacklit?] is cornmeal and my diploma is an orange peel
And my sense of rhythm acts like a force field
Protecting me from you, or you from me
(Tone it down, 'driver)
What's that in your gun holster?
Oh this is the de-negro-tiser
I shoot myself with it until I'm whiter than Peter Piper
Now I'll be able to bow before a world leaders maître
Until then the shackles on my Adidas sneakers need to be tighter
Cause right now man, I'm free like a zebra in Zaire
So I'll hop in a time machine to have my litigens wiped clean
And I'll entertain yuppies as they buy tight jeans and thai cuisine
Gus Haynes
I did my best
But I guess my best wasn't good enough
I be in the club draped in BUFU
Throwing hexes, voodoo
Black magic, juju
That's why I ain't mad when they watch the throne
Go ahead and let Waka Flocka dip his Glock in chrome
Make an interviewer call me Bruce Wavy like I'm Max B
No doubt I've read more Nietzsche than what they've asked of me
But these bastards will make a plaster cast of me
Guy Fieri-narrated biopic of Malcolm-Jamal Warner
In my utopia Nu Gingrich is an illegal foreigner
Diners, drive-ins and dives
⏱️ Synced Lyrics
[00:01.78] I did my best
[00:02.38] But I guess my best wasn’t good enough
[00:27.69] Your pretty Pinterest board ran out of spackle
[00:30.39] And we allowed Adidas to market shoes with shackles
[00:34.91] I wish I was more like Gus Haynes
[00:38.54] Sticking it to the white man through all of my gut pains
[00:41.25] You’re a white supremist if you wonder what country Obama was birthed in
[00:57.49] And went all through high school never reading Zora Neale Hurston
[01:01.10] I promise, I’ll be as pompous as I want to be
[01:04.71] And exploit affirmative action to cash in on this Bachelor’s degree
[01:08.33] I’m going to write some gibberish and call it “ethnic fiction”
[01:11.04] Right after I start an all-black cribbage league
[01:14.69] Our club mascot is Huey Newton’s ashy knee
[01:20.10] We’re repping meta postmodernity
[01:21.90] Until my home is burdened by non-functional furnishings
[01:27.32] I got hair like a pad of Brillo
[01:29.13] And date girls whose dad could be Don DeLillo
[01:32.73] What’s the price on my dignity plus damages
[01:35.44] Inflicted on my self esteem through ignorance and ham sandwiches?
[01:39.96] You’ll need a larger hedonic calculator
[01:42.73] The only black fantasy characters are always grouchy satyrs
[01:46.34] I’m in an alley shouting lines from the Credo
[01:49.04] Pages stained red from all these flaming hot Cheetos
[01:52.65] In my computer chair with a face full of [yolk strands?]
[01:56.26] Frantically searching the internet for all-brown folk bands
[01:59.87] Couldn’t get signed because my areolae aren’t heart-shaped
[02:02.58] Well, that’s certainly a dark fate
[02:07.09] No worries, there’s still hope for me
[02:09.79] My pan-African hoodie reeks of cocoa butter and potpourri
[02:45.05] Yea, you just downloaded the red heron 1000
[02:47.75] The black opinion splicer, the Donna Karan of pun jousting
[02:51.36] So white tycoons have a baby blood and a caligula making up
[02:54.98] My crazy duds are straight bare and [munchausen?]
[02:58.58] Oh what my wooly mane, it filters poison out the gentle breeze
[03:01.29] Applaud me as I dunk hoops, my sub-group is special needs
[03:04.90] Yep, marred to the [?] of a [?]
[03:08.51] These Eldridge Cleaver baby tees are a far cry from leadership
[03:11.23] But it’s so legit, here’s your ID about to go and punch a card
[03:14.83] You might need a [?]
[03:16.63] D.O. to [?] take his black cobra hiss
[03:18.44] Oh you think I like to protest? Do you think I’m pro-rich?
[03:22.05] Oh, well I guess I’m black, I just didn’t think that you noticed
[03:25.66] Your quiet disdain for black males makes me motion sick
[03:28.37] That’s why I’m a sourpuss, swag stays on our books
[03:31.97] Hunched over a power book I’m posting pics of my swollen prick
[03:35.59] Against exposed brick
[03:36.49] I’m [?]
[03:37.39] Trapped like a goldfish
[03:40.15] Oh my lungs, they’re two [atavistic?] steamboats
[03:42.85] Filled with negroe spirit holes and a sweet cream for that brioche
[03:46.46] And I guess you’re right man my weed’s rich in chlorophyll
[03:49.17] My [jacklit?] is cornmeal and my diploma is an orange peel
[03:53.68] And my sense of rhythm acts like a force field
[03:56.38] Protecting me from you, or you from me
[03:58.19] (Tone it down, 'driver)
[03:59.99] What’s that in your gun holster?
[04:01.80] Oh this is the de-negro-tiser
[04:03.60] I shoot myself with it until I’m whiter than Peter Piper
[04:08.12] Now I’ll be able to bow before a world leaders maître
[04:09.93] Until then the shackles on my Adidas sneakers need to be tighter
[04:14.44] Cause right now man, I’m free like a zebra in Zaire
[04:18.05] So I’ll hop in a time machine to have my litigens wiped clean
[04:20.76] And I’ll entertain yuppies as they buy tight jeans and thai cuisine
[04:25.27] Gus Haynes
[04:29.78] I did my best
[04:30.68] But I guess my best wasn’t good enough
[05:03.27] I be in the club draped in BUFU
[05:05.97] Throwing hexes, voodoo
[05:06.87] Black magic, juju
[05:09.58] That’s why I ain’t mad when they watch the throne
[05:12.28] Go ahead and let Waka Flocka dip his Glock in chrome
[05:15.89] Make an interviewer call me Bruce Wavy like I’m Max B
[05:18.60] No doubt I’ve read more Nietzsche than what they’ve asked of me
[05:24.03] But these bastards will make a plaster cast of me
[05:25.83] Guy Fieri-narrated biopic of Malcolm-Jamal Warner
[05:28.54] In my utopia Nu Gingrich is an illegal foreigner
[05:33.95] Diners, drive-ins and dives
[05:39.36]
[00:02.38] But I guess my best wasn’t good enough
[00:27.69] Your pretty Pinterest board ran out of spackle
[00:30.39] And we allowed Adidas to market shoes with shackles
[00:34.91] I wish I was more like Gus Haynes
[00:38.54] Sticking it to the white man through all of my gut pains
[00:41.25] You’re a white supremist if you wonder what country Obama was birthed in
[00:57.49] And went all through high school never reading Zora Neale Hurston
[01:01.10] I promise, I’ll be as pompous as I want to be
[01:04.71] And exploit affirmative action to cash in on this Bachelor’s degree
[01:08.33] I’m going to write some gibberish and call it “ethnic fiction”
[01:11.04] Right after I start an all-black cribbage league
[01:14.69] Our club mascot is Huey Newton’s ashy knee
[01:20.10] We’re repping meta postmodernity
[01:21.90] Until my home is burdened by non-functional furnishings
[01:27.32] I got hair like a pad of Brillo
[01:29.13] And date girls whose dad could be Don DeLillo
[01:32.73] What’s the price on my dignity plus damages
[01:35.44] Inflicted on my self esteem through ignorance and ham sandwiches?
[01:39.96] You’ll need a larger hedonic calculator
[01:42.73] The only black fantasy characters are always grouchy satyrs
[01:46.34] I’m in an alley shouting lines from the Credo
[01:49.04] Pages stained red from all these flaming hot Cheetos
[01:52.65] In my computer chair with a face full of [yolk strands?]
[01:56.26] Frantically searching the internet for all-brown folk bands
[01:59.87] Couldn’t get signed because my areolae aren’t heart-shaped
[02:02.58] Well, that’s certainly a dark fate
[02:07.09] No worries, there’s still hope for me
[02:09.79] My pan-African hoodie reeks of cocoa butter and potpourri
[02:45.05] Yea, you just downloaded the red heron 1000
[02:47.75] The black opinion splicer, the Donna Karan of pun jousting
[02:51.36] So white tycoons have a baby blood and a caligula making up
[02:54.98] My crazy duds are straight bare and [munchausen?]
[02:58.58] Oh what my wooly mane, it filters poison out the gentle breeze
[03:01.29] Applaud me as I dunk hoops, my sub-group is special needs
[03:04.90] Yep, marred to the [?] of a [?]
[03:08.51] These Eldridge Cleaver baby tees are a far cry from leadership
[03:11.23] But it’s so legit, here’s your ID about to go and punch a card
[03:14.83] You might need a [?]
[03:16.63] D.O. to [?] take his black cobra hiss
[03:18.44] Oh you think I like to protest? Do you think I’m pro-rich?
[03:22.05] Oh, well I guess I’m black, I just didn’t think that you noticed
[03:25.66] Your quiet disdain for black males makes me motion sick
[03:28.37] That’s why I’m a sourpuss, swag stays on our books
[03:31.97] Hunched over a power book I’m posting pics of my swollen prick
[03:35.59] Against exposed brick
[03:36.49] I’m [?]
[03:37.39] Trapped like a goldfish
[03:40.15] Oh my lungs, they’re two [atavistic?] steamboats
[03:42.85] Filled with negroe spirit holes and a sweet cream for that brioche
[03:46.46] And I guess you’re right man my weed’s rich in chlorophyll
[03:49.17] My [jacklit?] is cornmeal and my diploma is an orange peel
[03:53.68] And my sense of rhythm acts like a force field
[03:56.38] Protecting me from you, or you from me
[03:58.19] (Tone it down, 'driver)
[03:59.99] What’s that in your gun holster?
[04:01.80] Oh this is the de-negro-tiser
[04:03.60] I shoot myself with it until I’m whiter than Peter Piper
[04:08.12] Now I’ll be able to bow before a world leaders maître
[04:09.93] Until then the shackles on my Adidas sneakers need to be tighter
[04:14.44] Cause right now man, I’m free like a zebra in Zaire
[04:18.05] So I’ll hop in a time machine to have my litigens wiped clean
[04:20.76] And I’ll entertain yuppies as they buy tight jeans and thai cuisine
[04:25.27] Gus Haynes
[04:29.78] I did my best
[04:30.68] But I guess my best wasn’t good enough
[05:03.27] I be in the club draped in BUFU
[05:05.97] Throwing hexes, voodoo
[05:06.87] Black magic, juju
[05:09.58] That’s why I ain’t mad when they watch the throne
[05:12.28] Go ahead and let Waka Flocka dip his Glock in chrome
[05:15.89] Make an interviewer call me Bruce Wavy like I’m Max B
[05:18.60] No doubt I’ve read more Nietzsche than what they’ve asked of me
[05:24.03] But these bastards will make a plaster cast of me
[05:25.83] Guy Fieri-narrated biopic of Malcolm-Jamal Warner
[05:28.54] In my utopia Nu Gingrich is an illegal foreigner
[05:33.95] Diners, drive-ins and dives
[05:39.36]