© 2002 d. decker
Words and music by Doug Decker; all rights reserved
Well, there's a guy we all know… we call him Osama
And he's the talk of the town from New York to Yokohama
Though he ain't too brave, likes to run and hide
Lives down in a cave dug in a mountainside
Now, little Osama... bin Laden
He didn't pay attention back in kindergarten
Didn't play well with others, tried to poison the paste
Always talkin' 'bout "destruction" and "waste"
Well, some say he got his turban wrapped a little too tight
Or his robe's bunched up and he ain't settin' right
Or he didn't get quality time with his folks as a kid
Like he thought his other thirty-odd siblings did
Because later, when his daddy up and kicked him out
Osama didn't whine, and he didn't pout
He just picked up his AK-47
Said " I'm gonna shoot my way into heaven."
Osama bin Laden... I beg your pardon
Osama bin leadin’ his band of downtrodden
Bin plannin, bin waitin’ for his day at last
Bin runnin’, bin hidin',
Bin watchin’ his ass.
He’s got himself bunch of troopers, all fumin' with hate
And just enough faith, he can manipulate
Yeah, they're stayin' up late at night just tryin' to learn
New ways to hurt people when their backs are turned
Now, his guys all believe that he's a really deep thinker
Though his logic's fulla holes, and he's kind of a stinker
But he's a multimillionaire, y’know, he makes things happen
So they sit and suffer through his corny rappin'
Yeah, they like to shoot and scoot then get together to hoot
Find some country too terrified to give 'em the boot
They'll burn a flag or a dummy, fire guns and shout
Just a bunch of bad boys gettin' their ya-yas out
Then they get down in their holes in their down sleepin bags
Ain’t no women allowed… this bash is strictly stag
One big bad slumber party goin' on for years;
Dedicated to mayhem and fear. -- and it's...
O ...O ... O... O -sama ; (comma)
When’s the last time you called your mama (call yo’ mama)
I gotta wonder if she would really approve
Of your buds & this whole terrorist groove...
Now, ordinary workin’ folks are what he likes to attack
He's real good at hurtin' people when they can't fight back
But hey, this ain't nothing new, we got a name for it
Here in the West we always called it ...hmm.. chicken spit
So, now he managed to get us really good and sore
Although his jet jockeys barely made 3 out of 4
He caught us all with our drawers down, 'round our ankles
Oh yeah, he got us all riled and wrankled -- but Tell me, 'O'...
Suppose you succeed, you wipe out half the west
Say, a few hundred million folks -- more or less;
You’re hittin' Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Jews...
Until the only ones left had better think like you
And when the world is yours, oh, that’ll be real nice
Be a regular fanatic terrorists' paradise
Where a few devout thugs tell us all what to do
I'm sure we'll build a great big statue of you... and...
Osama bin Laden, you won't be forgotten
You've earned your place among the vile and the rotten
Just don't expect us all to share your point of view
'Cause people don't like terror and they Don't like you
You take Kaczynski, Manson and Dahmer (take 'em all)
They got nothin' on our boy Osama (he's so tall)
Why can't you just be a banker or a farmer
Or something peaceful, maybe, like a Dalai Lama
Nobody needs another bad, mad bomber...