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Rythm is a Dancer

de The Lonely Island

My car, my house, my kid, my spouse
My team, my dream, I gots to feed the beast
My glutes, my bod, they say: My God
My tris, my calves, my thighs
The hits, the tags, the sex, the crabs
The road, the bus, my tiny little nuts
Your finger, my butt, you know what's up
The bumps, the slumps, the motherfucking umps
The fans, the heckles, the girls with the freckles
They're trying to distract me from trying to be special
These pompous fucking pitchers trying to strike your man out
And these scummy bloodsuckers looking for a handout (out)

The stress, the press, the beautiful mess
The razors I use to shave my chest
The bills, the pills, the views from the hills
My streaks, my ruts, my tiny little nuts
My mom, my burden, I'm not a virgin
The aches, the pain, the heat, the rain
The lies, the secrets, José, I'll keep it
And Mark, I'll keep it, we'll keep our secret (our secret)

Feed the beast
Feed the beast
Feed the beast

They say it's lonely at the top
But I got hella homies, like Mark
Plus the guy that gets my blow for me
Plus the guy that gets my 'roids for me
And my cars for me and my money manager
That collects my dough for me
Plus my private bodyguard
Always on patrol for me
Plus the lady that I pay to suggest Merlots for me
Plus my agent, my real best friend
Yeah my agent, he'll be there 'til the end
My sports agent, I trust him with my life
The only one that truly understands my strife
Together we'll achieve the most amazing heights
He knows what I like and he treats me right

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