I'll win you over make you my own,
Build you a throne in our home,
A pedestal of racecar palindromes.

Drawing your ire every time they call me sire, do you desire to see the fire and be inspired?

Or do you find me a liar, with pants of fire, showing stripes of a tiger, a liger, an out of his prime fighter?

Cause we swingin them thangs
And givin our thanks
When we roll up to the banks
And cop us some cake