Hey, look at me, I'm a clavi! *falls down*
I'm known for being talentless all over town,
In some parts of England I'm worth half a crown,
And Columbia'd choose Coke before my awful sound!
That's everything there is to know about me.
..Well, Mr. Cla
Ooh, and I dance!
That's wonderful Mr. Clavi, but I think
Clavis really suck, *chihuahua*
Clavi's out of luck, *chihuahua*
Like you give a truck, *chihuahua*
I sing, too.
That'll be quite alright.
Oh, no, it's no trouble.
I hear your songs
Are liked by no-one.
Ain'cha got no rhyme at least?
Lookin' for money,
You know- oh, screw it, that was a little bit enjoyable- you're in- you can be an instrument.
And thus became clavis and death and the like,
Now every day we've to put up with this tripe,
We still suspect God put them there out of spite,
'cause all that they're good for
The Earth and all her jubilee and might,
and self-inflicted hardship overcome,
and doctrine forged to settle wrong and right
no more can tell her doctors from the Sun-
with science and scripture stirred and made the same,
and idols cast from dirt and lust and gold,
and sunlight ploughed and passed a clever name,
and beauty culled and bought and used and sold,
thus, sun and beauty bound and in a mew,
as each one treads your lashes and your hair,
but glossy doctrines cast and mould and skew;
and you can't tell the sunlight from the glare-
and don the golden makeup and disguise,
as lashes keep the sunlight from your eyes.
As you spend your days
Casting your life onto paper,
Only to have it
Blown away in the wind.
A beat of the heart
Disturbs the air-
And its life is carried
High, through the vacuum
Of nights and days
To the very stars above you now,
And plays with the beat of my own.
Do not tell
Is not important.
I see, where I am not supposed to look,
Nights that bluster and skies with not a star,
Happiness lost to smiles that Heaven took,
And days so free, when home is all too far-
And yet I see a comfort lie therein,
For someday should these days become my own,
Mine eyes shall shut and spirit start to sing;
I\'ll think of thee, and I\'ll remember home.
Rappa yo Hands
What do you call a clavi that's also a toaster?
Y'all act like you've never seen a rappin' banjo before,
Jaws all on the floor,
Like a clavi with a DP just walked in the door..
See that's funny 'cause the banjo's the DP whore,
Earning favourites galore,
With clav at the back just lookin' bored..
If Nostradamus were here he'd say score,
'cause according to lore,
He reckoned ol' Banjo'd win this here war..
Now I don't know about you, but I'm pretty bored,
Got all the way to verse four,
But it's just not funny anymore..
Kinda like the clavio,
Stick that in yer pipe'n'go:
I'm Ban Jovi,
Yes I'm the real Saddam,
But the folk that had clavis wish
They never had 'em..
Ya wish Otab
Would just wheesht up,
Just wheesht up,
Just wheesht up..