/She spruced it up /with a racing stripe
/and sold it to a guy /who was new to town.
That sneaky little bitch ripped me off, with her face like a wrinkled yam and her lies.
What she did was wrong.
Evil and wrong.
- What did you do with the car?
- I sold it to the next sucker.
Hey, welcome to America.
/And Escobar gave the car something /he called a Nairobi tune-up
/and sold it to a hillbilly.
I wrote "turbo" on the side and sold it to a black fella named Pookie Johnson.
I remember 'cause my mom's name is Pookie.
Hey, is that a three-position switch with a built-in timer?
- Can I buy it?
- Don't do it, don't do it.
I think he's building a bomb.
We've already established that scruples are not a big part of my nature.
/I wasn't getting closer /to finding an honest man,
/but Lloyd seemed to be getting /closer to finishing his bomb,
/so I had to get creative.
Yeah, it conked out in the Chubby Burger drive-through line.
That's when I said to myself,
"Pookie James Johnson, you have been hoodwinked."
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