Forget the ipod and ipad
I want an ihop
To dance me down the street
‘Cause I’m tired of marching with my feet.
Ah, forget it,
I’d probably be arrested like a hooker
Because the device would be so unknown
The cops would be confused
And say, “book ‘er.”
The containment of a goddess
Would become a national spectacle,
I’d have to climb a eucalyptus just to get away.
I might even invite Bieber
And hope little girls or the media
Don’t drag us away like a greedy beaver.
All this speculating has got me in a fever,
I guess I prefer the ihop to remain a mystery,
So Justin and I will hop off a pier
And finally be history.
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