[Spoken]
Ho-ly sh*t Becky!
Look at that nut!
He’s such a pig!
He looks just like a deathly pale vampire
Dude, I don’t know he even stays hired
No groupies flock to him
Cause he’s wearing a busniess suit, duh!
I mean this nut
Is just so dumb
I can’t believe he’s still around
And he’s up there
I mean… gross
Dude!
He’s just so… White!!!

[Rapped]
I don't do drugs, nope that’s no lie
Mocked by all the rappers who get high

I guess to the hood life I’m real huge disgrace
With acne smothering my face

They’re all stunned, since I don’t own a gun
And I’ve never ever been handcuffed

But I’m up on stage not swearing
I'm booked with the speakers blaring

”Yeah, baby I have I own fan club
Get in my hot tub”

My fanbase hates and scorns me
Cause this rap I gots so freaking corny

Ooh, drums and some talking
Cause that’s all rap music is

Refuse me? Lose me!
Barmizhas all persue me

Made hits with Hanson
I still lack that mansion
In debt, sweat
Lyrics I always forget

The only magazine
That ever featured me
Was an interview about fuzzy bathroom mats
People always ask who’s that?

So parents (Yeah!) parents (Yeah!)
Are your kids sick of clowns and stuff? (Hell Yeah!)
Well then just call me (Call you?) Call me! (Call you?)
Birthday Party strut!
Baby Can't Rap!!!

(A white face, with a ghetto hoodie)
Baby Can't Rap!
(A white face, with a ghetto hoodie)

I think I found a gig!
Rap and Irish jig!
At Octoberfest I’m a drunken rapping imbecil
The check I'll handle

Drive my Pinto home
And sleep, wake up and work, work
Radio Shack I'll deploy
My microphone parts have got destroyed

My concerts aren’t that shiek or fancy
Cause there ain’t no fancy attics
My raps are quite climatic
Till the mic starts spewing static

Make own music videos
No cash for hot hoes or even clothes
Thus MTV jokes
”Next to K-Fed he’s a Rap Pro”

A word to the concert critics
I wanna impress ya
No cuss to distress ya
I want to move straight right onto the *gasp*
Billboard Record Charts

My rap music is my art
A lot of guys won't like my songs
They like punk like Green Day and Offspring
But I like Dr. Dre
But my songs are so long
With “Fitzgerald” they have won

So groupies (*crickets*), Groupies? (*crickets*)
At Cedar Point on I’m on stage with Snoopy
Not profound, I’m devout
Can’t make these famlies shout
Baby Can't Rap!!!

Baby Can't Rap!!!

[Spoken]
Yeah baby…
When it comes to concert halls
I ain’t got nothing to do with my selection
County Fairs?
Beach Resorts?
Bars for Hicks… Yeh… I’ll be there till three

[Rapped]
So you like country or opera?
Well… Abracadbra!
Stole lyrics from Johnny Cash and french Operas

Open for Abba and most anyone
Car payments aren’t yet done
Call me days, nights and weekends
Cause I need to make bucks!

Some call Will Smith a sell out
And say he does it all for gold
But if Will Smith can achieve it
I’m gonna take and retrive it

You call my rap rhymes trash
But at least it makes me cash
My paycheck ain’t small, but I’m always spendin’
On merchaindise for street vendin’

All the Popstar babes in them magazines
Know how to cha-ching
And I’m a mister who’s no stickler
Cause I'm selling bumper stickers

So look me up down in Vegas
On the sidewalks I’ll exist
Might be lame, but it makes me money
Cause folks think that it’s funny

At parties bring me around
If Reel Big Fish is never found
Dial 1-800-RAPFORBUX
I'll get there in my truck

Baby Can't Rap!!!
Baby Can't Rap!!!

(Great on the fiddle, but not much at rap)
(Great on the fiddle, but not much at rap)
(Great on the fiddle, but not much at rap)
(Great on the fiddle, but not much at rap)