Bad rap, uh huh,
Bad rap, uh huh.

Now L.A. hip and N.Y. chic, been dancing lately, cheek to cheek,
While Midwest good ole boys like me should all be playing catch-up, see,
Subscribe to the Village Voice in throngs, and guess who gigs at Madame Wong's'
Well, drop your pens and pant designs and drop six words in your open minds.

Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
To the Hollywood school teaching everything's cool,
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
To the Greenwich mockingbird who has gotta have the last word,
Got your head together now'
Got a way that's better now'
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
Ha, ha,
Say what'

Bad rap, uh huh.

You save the whales, you save the seals, you save whatever's cute and squeals,
But you kill that thing that's in the womb - would not want no baby boom,
Good, bad, laugh and scorn; blame yourself for kiddie porn,
Convenience is the law you keep, and your compassion's ankle deep.

Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
Wrap it in a fine philosophy,
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
But your bottom line still says, "Me, me, me"
Got your head together now'
Got a way that's better now'
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'

(Are you ready for this')
You'll march if all the streets are full, a two-bit closet radical,
No time to check the end result; expedience is your catapult,
Convictions make your skin to crawl, you act like you're above it all,
You say, "Faith is a crutch for a mind that's closed,"
You guzzle your crutch and shove it up your nose.

Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
To my left wing band with their head in the sand,
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'
To the might-makes-right playing chicken delight,
Got your head together now'
Got a way that's better now'
Who you tryin' to kid, kid'

Can't understand those Christians, so you type us all in stereo,
Well, they're hypocrites, they're such a bore,
Well, come on in, there's room for one more.

Bad rap, uh huh,
Bad rap, uh huh.

So now you're mad,
Who is this guy to bake us all in one big pie'
You think I care' - Forget it, hon,
You've just been shot with your own gun.

Bad rap, uh huh,
Sugar Hill are gonna need a pill,
Bad rap, uh huh,
Grandmaster Flash gonna get a rash.