(words & music by Eddie Rabbit - Dick Heard)
Seven lonely days and a dozen towns ago
I reached out one night and you were gone
Don't know why you'd run, what you're running to or from
All I know is I want to bring you home
So I'm walking in the rain, thumbin' for a ride
On this lonely Kentucky backroad
I've loved you much too long; my love's too strong
To let you go, never knowing what went wrong.
Kentucky rain keeps pouring down,
another hedge, another town that I'll go walking through
With the rain in my shoes, searchin for you
In the cold Kentucky rain, in the cold Kentucky rain.
Showed your photograph to some old gray bearded men
Sitting on a bench outside a general store
They said "Yes, she's been here"
But their memory wasn't clear.
Was it yesterday? No, wait the day before.
Finally got a ride, with a preacher man who asked,
"Where you bound on such a cold, dark afternoon?"
As we drove on through the rain, as he listened I explained
And he left me with a prayer that I'd find you.Intro:
Ladies and gentleman, that nigga King Tee and the al-cum-a-holiks
Verse One: J-Ro
Pooh-butts play the rear cause I'm makin yapes
The rhymes ain't no thicker than a, skittle grapes
A lot of girls would like to thank me, for the hanky-panky
On the mic I hold a belt, now I know no one could spank me
It took a long time for the people, to hear my rhymes
Seems like I been rappin since my birth in '69
Sorry to keep you waitin, I run rhymes like Walter Payton
I get a rhyme like spokes on a Dayton
But I won't knock off, because I just rock off
the beats to get funky, like when you take your sock off
To all the white folks I would like to say howdy
And to all my brothers I say peace quit actin rowdy
Wack MCs in ninety-two, ew you need to take a rest
the public don't you aim the best you're softer than a hookers chest
raps, I make em, snaps, I make em
For duties movin booties cause I shake shake shake em
And I got rhymes, funky funky rhymes
E-Swift hold the needle down with nickels and dimes
I drink Olde English, St. Ide's and Mickeys
When it's time to roll I throw on my black dickeys
On the mic I get wicked, like Wilson Pickett
I get the place jumpin like a cricket when I kick shit
I'm from the West coast but don't sleep home-stimpy
Even if I was a paperboy you still couldn't rip me
I walk up and chalk up pairs like the Knicks
I'm all in the mix like snares, and kicks
When it comes to rhymes I get loose like belt buckles
Those who chose to oppose this nose is felt knuckles
(Where you goin' to?) To the tip
(And what cha bout to do?) Bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they kick it like Bruce Lee
(What's your favorite brew?) Olde E
(And what it make you do?) Go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearrangin, and changin like times
I got it bad y'all, I got