Wo, are we movin' too slow?
Have you seen us, Uncle Remus . . .
We look pretty sharp in these clothes
Unless we get sprayed with a hose
If they squirt it your way
'Cept in the winter, when it's froze
To the grindstone, they say
I can't wait till my Fro is full-grown
I'll just throw 'way my Doo-Rag at home
I'll take a drive to BEVERLY HILLS
An' knock the little jockeys
Off the rich people's lawn
I'll be gone, I'll be gone
I'll be knocking the jockeys off the lawn