*I breath in & out quickly then think*
I am Michael Jackson...
I am the King of Pop...
I am the artist of the millenium...
I'm in a court house my history the issue, a hurtful past
curious to know about my caved in nose or surgical mask
night gaurds beat me & scared me with there bastard dog
joked about how I picked my nose? answer: out of a catalog
'Wacko Jacko?' pychiatrist report states my clout is crazy
german fans make me throw fits or throw out my baby?
no doubt I'm crazy? a media nightmare? or obscene fucker?
lets get one fact straight though, Billy Jean is not my lover!
a role-model kids look up to me, there starving for a messsage
how many counts of molestation? pardon me for a second
*breaths in & breaths out*
I am Michael Jackson...
I am the King of Pop...
I am the artist of the millenium
soft girlish tone, no hormone treatments but goons talk
Im out of this world...Why else do you think I moonwalk?
mother loved? she was too occupied being a Jahova witness
dad disciplined well, beat me or he might unload the dishes
had a concrete idea paved the way to a repeating ending
of endless paparazzi inspired by a tabloid feeding frenzy
proceeding empty no butterflies, spun till socks are twirled
stoned to death, whispering at the victims. you rock my world?
hehe
"We the jury find the defendent Michael Jackson... Not guilty"
*breaths out and thinks*
I am Michael Jackson...
I am the King of Pop...
I am the artist of the millenium