Ladies in the house all know what that mean.
It ain’t about the horror in a villa called Amity;
It’s all about my brother Jon, the kid named Calamity.
It’s his birthday, babies, so right after the comma,
Better get to celebratin’ when he slid out of his mama.
If you ain’t got the word, then you’re broke like a crackpot;
Don’t be all front like a building on a back lot –
If you got a flask of whiskey, then commence to get tore up;
If you a Quattro like Kreed, then commence to throw all four up
Then commence to bust a move like Reagan broke PATCO;
If you carryin’, then, homie, bust some shots into the atmo;
If you rollin’ with your boys, throw some signs like “SAVE FERRIS”;
If you rollin’ with your girls, get wet like Lori Lemaris;
If you rollin’ with your team, then, son, you best give up your lane
And over to the bar to buy the boy some liquid grain.
This Jon ain’t little like the boys from thee East Side;
This Jon’s mad porta, so step back and let him hoo-ride;
This Morris ain’t a dancer, yo, unless you’re talkin’ “Thriller” –
And if you are, he’s got more moves than any prisoner in Manila.
He’s got the flyest honey, he’s got the dopest hands;
Start boring him like Wayne, he’ll leave you in your illest stance;
Give the boy the rock and he will sink it like Atlantis;
His finishing maneuver leaves you nappin’ on the canvas;
A rock-solid gangsta who ain’t never gonna tattle;
A #1 draughtsman, the J.R. Jones of Seattle.
He’s a liquor alchemist, a vodka transformer;
He already won this shit when you was still a bench warmer;
Now that you done suited up and ready to come in,
He already in the locker room to celebrate the win.
You said “It’s either him or me”, and everyone chose “him” --
So suck it up and shout it: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JONNY M.!”