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Boulevard - Lyrics

People live in fear of the Boulevard man.
He's a bigger, badder dude than homie He Man.
He can lift four hundred pounds and fourteen cinder blocks.
The brother's got biceps like a chicken's got pox.
He wears his Harvard underwear around the hall.
Getting pretty chummy with the RA named Paul.
Guitar in hand, he's singin' songs about his poodle,
Hummin' and strummin' the electric struedel.

Boulevard

Suckachunk sliva col' to the gateway,
If you roll up on the Boulee, man, you're col' gonna pay
'Cuz my man is comin' atcha like a serve from Capriatti.
Every 2 hours my man's going to the potty.
Backwards words are flowin' straight outta his niarb.
In the dark my man in especially evarb.
He shimmys and he boogies and wiggles like a noodle.
Let's not forget our reference to electric struedel.

Boulevard

He shares the same name with the great Alexander.
Philosophical views lean towards Anaximander.
Size small Harvards are his favorite fashion.
Emotionally complex he shows much compassion,
He wouldn't even hurt an innocent fly,
But you roll up on him wrong and you're col gonna die,
'Cuz my man holds to the truth like a pirate to his bootle.
Once more we'll refer to electric struedel.

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