~

You said that Craig’s - career won’t stall
O.J. would not appall
50 Cent, would hit on Sting
All this you claimed—'Prognos-ti-King'

You’re cock-sure, that there’d be
A shampoo called ‘Britney’
’08 results you have ‘forseen’
For President, it’s Charlie Sheen?

Bro, you seem to think that your divining’s deluxe
Oh yeah
It’s closer to the truth to say your prophecy sucks
You know you’re gonna have to face it, your predictin’s a dud

For horoscopes, you charted Mars
And Carrot Top— “The brightest star”
You see signs, that you can’t read
The tea leaves say, “What a dick weed!”

Won’t you concede? Your “vision’s” sick
Barker you claimed—would marry Vick?
And Diddy’d ditch, his hip-hop thing
To re-emerge, as Polka’s king?

Bro—you always claim that your foretelling’s first-class
Oh yeah
It’s closer to the truth to say you’re—Nostra-dumb-ass
You know you really have to face it, your predictin’s a dud

Might as well face it, your predictin’s a dud
Psychic? No traces, you’re as prescient as Fudd
Light-weight, don’t ‘Blaine’ it, boy it ain’t in your blood
‘Sighted’? Get Lasik, you’re clairvoyant as mud
Bite me you space-twit, I predict you’re a pud

~ ~

~ ~ auspicious but predictable guitar solo here ~ ~

~ ~

You said Iraq— “No way to lose”
And Hasselhoff, would hold his booze
Paris you claimed, would marry Hicks
And ‘Potter’ books would end at six

Bro, you love to think that all your ‘auguring’s’ swell
Oh yeah
Your future’s clear to see—its just you and Taco Bell
You know you finally gotta face it, your predictin’s a dud

Might as well face it, your predictin’s a dud
Psychic? No basis, you’re as prescient as Fudd
Light-weight don’t ‘Blaine’ it, boy it ain’t in your blood
Knighted “Sir Fake-it”, crystal ball is a spud
Blighted disgraced dick called the ‘Ominous Stud'?
Citin’ spleen traces sayin’ Google’ll thud
Might try free basin’, your soothsayin’s for crud
Righteous My Spacin’, claimin’ Everest will flood
Bite me you space-twit, I predict you’re a pud

~