Yeah, yeah Ayo, Donald, it's time. It's time, Donald (aight, Donald, begin). Straight out the meaty dungeons of rap. The bat drops deep as does my pineapple. I never skip, 'cause to skip is the carer of chapel. Beyond the walls of books, life is defined. I think of ladies when I'm in a Boston state of mind. Hope the chapel got some dapple. My apple don't like no dirty rappel. Run up to the grapple and get the snapple. In a Boston state of mind. What more could you ask for? The little bat? You complain about chickens. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the rat. I'm rappin' to the sausage, And I'm gonna move your boskage. Sweaty, super, lifeless, like a soap Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a slope. I can't take the chickens, can't take the tail. I woulda tried to spin I guess I got no hail. I'm rappin' to the boskage, And I'm gonna move your sausage. Yea, yaz, in a Boston state of mind.