Malkovich - Clouseau Cats lyrics

I run up in NATO like 'ayo" Gotcha keeping all options on the table, yall lame-os Libyan caviar, hard bagel cats, park ranger cats I'm doing April in Naples, Clark Gable hats Papal visits, paparazzi caught me, play it back That's me and Pavarotti with the emiratis I'm Jim Kong Ill, sake and Asahi, weighing stacks Not me, I got people I pay for that, I'm so brand nouveau They say you so Euro cuz I got a bodyguard named Hugo and he's quick to flip your Peugeot You know, Inspector Clouseau cats Head of a country yall named twenty minutes back Keep your ear to BBC for when that goes to crap Now watch em raise the Union Jack on ya, old chap But the British are finished, we done speaking English New world order rap Write my name in bold, pictureframe in gold Play the part of scoundrel, got the role down cold Idi liked that Motown soul, that I outgrown I'm at my own opera, box seat, binoculars, clap or get your whole town rolled I got hackers with open sores, working on open source, steal your whole government off a download When the war hits I'll be in Brazil with Jim Jones' four kids Or at my home in Wyoming with the doors rigged Creep and get caught and horsewhipped, or blown to horsesh** A novelist, and my work stand like an obelisk, like tutankhamen's crypt Barack Obama got Iraq, Osama clipped, but there's one man the man don't want drama with I got the bogle of a mogul I ain't no Oval Office hopeful, yall can get a scopeful I got Topolovs over the Poconos, dropping brochures and posters floating slow My face everywhere, hair flared, Jim Kong Ill, the face on the million dollar bill That ain't cake, I got billions in bullion Tell Bernanke and them Yankees brush up on your Boolean Yeah my boys is chefs, yall getting julienned You got De La Hoya's lawyer, all toothy grin I got DSK suits and they ain't have to sneak the toolys in No need to conjure no double entendre Double rocket launchers gotcha hunkered in bunkers, bonkers Your little country I'll nuke it, leave it gooey as nougat What's left's included under the rubric of that BLX crew sh** f** you forget?