Don Cornelius is my shepherd. I shall not want.
He maketh me dress fly and lay down the funky flow.
He leadeth to me all the foxy booty-shakin' honeys.
He restoreth my groove.He leadeth away
dumb crackers and wack hustlers.
dumb crackers and wack hustlers.
Yea, though I walk through the valley
of stale tunes and lame mixes,
I will fear no player-haters.
My brim and pimp cane they comfort me.
Thou preparest room on the dance floor for me.
Thou annointest my hair with Afro Sheen.
My pimp cup runeth over.
And surely fine young honeys, and no requests
for dubstep, will mark my gigs.
And I shall dwell in the reruns of Soul Train forever.
