Who Me? [With an Answer from Dr. Bert]

"Once upon a time there was a little boy Who lived in the deep, dark jungles of Africa His name was Little Sambo" (Uh oh ZL's X-ercisin' his right to be hostile) They always try to say that coon Is me for some reason (I don't understand, man) You don't understand?! (No, I don't know) My temper, temper's up to like tenward Switched up with thoughts that I recommend My nest is flood but thicker is blood Plus, still some stay stud like Sticks in the mud Ibuprofen from new kids keep Me from flippin' daily Yet, I constantly slip into Thinkin' kinda loony in my logo you see us? Whoever said that coon was me? Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! Holy smokes! I say it's a joke To make a mockery of the original folks Okay, joke's over, but still it cloaks over Us with no luck from no clover This, irritates X, so goes into my text Tolerates one N-word complex Subroc, etched the fuzz of what once was In eighty-deca, the joke's on cuz Those on top of my head stand seven thick Hairs that even if I wanted To I couldn't pick Pigment, is this a defect in birth? Or more an example of the richness on Earth? Lips and eyes dominant trait's of our race Does not take up 95 percent of one's face But still I see, in the back two or three Ignorant punks pointing at me Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! (Who me?) Yo, I begs your pardon But have you ever seen this Brother walkin' 'round here anywhere? That must be missing person Have you ever saw his face on a milk carton? (Oh, no) Tricky tricky Must be part of the "Gas Face" series The same one who started black Cat bad luck theories Yeah, he done it, this place, he runs it And I'm guilty, Alcatraz till four hundred Judge ye not the unjudged is where he slipped The real guilty is filthy, he gypped Egypt Blew the nose right off the Sphynx Now when he inks Ugly as when our hair kinks, we thinks Then zap goes the nap, now I gots good hair If that's good hair, then bad's a hood's hair Comb-twisted dome, braided or faded The first man played it and now we hate it? Robbed of our culture True indeed I bear witness And recommend this mental fitness So get this loaded toolie and Point it at a ghoul Then ask him: "Who you callin' moolie?" Oh, no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! (Who me?) uh, oh no! Uh, oh no! Yo, they wanna call me a monkey, a coon A jiggaboo a boogie man, yo Bert! Yo! Bert! No, them (Oh, us?) Yes Kids, pick up a crayon, look for (Little Sambo) When you find him, draw a circle around him Yo, you got to rock that Hum shit for me later, too