Little Mo-Deep

Little Mo-Deep has lost his beat,
And can’t for the life of him find it;
He left it alone for so very long,
He lost his fans to pop music.

Little Mo-Deep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt up a bitching rap song,
But when he awoke, he found it a joke,
The lyrics he’d dreamt were all wrong.

“Bootie in da crib, baby got da bib,
shake your rattle like ya can can,
Bootie in da crib, baby got da bib,
Mama out workin for da man man.”

The baby asleep, Little Mo-Deep,
Who’d spent all the millions he’d had,
Reflected on his life as a maid and a wife
which made Little Mo more than sad.

Little Mo-Deep had risen so steep,
His music the rage of the masses,
Then he took to his cups and the money dried up,
His Muse turned thick as molasses.

But life must go on, and Mo has a song
He sings to the baby and rocks her:
“Grow up sweetie pie, the apple of my eye
Who’ll keep your ole dad in good Vodka.”