Let's assemble our lemonade, starting with some filtered water The best part is you can do this to taste You can make it more lemony, or sweet Now you're ready for a picnic or a nice porch and a rocking chair All those oils in the peel will give it an incredible burst of Lemon squee— Runnin' shit That's my favorite errand and gerund Mean-muggin' concert-goers get Bobby McFerrin'd Muster up emotion of a dusty old theremin Discerning listeners can pick up my voice in the Saharan wind Y'all mid-level like Maryland latitudinally And in a bad mood usually, not me Shatter convention with a pebble At an intervention with the devil I was level-headed My tendency to drift such a gift Cause your thumb to lift like a hitchhiker tryna bum a lift From a passin' by motorist Asinine vocalist fascinated by colloquialisms I quiz bums like the beach patrol Sleepin' on me in the sand sans reaching goals I just conducted a secret poll Turns out some were born to run, I simply seek to stroll I speak in code through the speaker holes A beacon that can be seen but she can't be controlled Those in the know read between the folds I put your wanderin' soul into a sleeper hold This ain't a stranglehold, it's a newfangled hold Whole new angle on holds, I'm breakin' some molds A pimp in Anchorage, Alaska said my slang is cold Turn you to a family dry cleaners, your whole gang'll fold All your lemons, get 'em extra juicy Six to eight lemons should be enough Easy peezy Squeeze and juice Once that sugar's dissolved we're just gonna strain it and let it cool Lemon squeezy I rose to a new level in scientology Didn't pay a cent, my ascent was mind-bogglin' L. Ron looked up at me in astonishment The laws of physics, I abolished 'em You really ought to give me my proper acknowledgement As if to the best college I went Let's not forget this old body's not the only skin that I been in When I toggle in to the god within Of the past lives I've lived I'm more cognizant (Yeah) I sang songs of both poverty and opulence (Ah-ah-ah) I played the tablas in the band that Gandhi's mom was in Ancient rhythms beatin' in the fabric of my collagen Powerhouse, might've been a mitochondria Already many mental images I might've conjured up With what shall I follow this up? A fat man walkin', I follow my gut (Yuh)