I'm just average, common too   I'm just like him, the same as you   I'm everybody's brother and son   I ain't different than anyone      It ain't no use to talk to me   It's just the same as talking to you      I was shadow-boxing earlier in the day   I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay   I said, "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come"      "26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mine   5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Cassius Clay, you'd better run   99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won't even recognize you   14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen"      Well, I don't know, but I've been told   The streets in heaven are lined with gold   I ask you how things could get much worse   If the Russians happen to get up there first, wowee, pretty scary      Now, I'm liberal, but to a degree, I want everybody to be free   But if you think I'll let Barry Goldwater   Move in next door and marry my daughter, you must think I'm crazy   I wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba      Well, I set my monkey on the log   And ordered him to do the dog   He wagged his tail and shook his head   And he went and did the cat instead   He's a weird monkey, very funky      I sat with my high-heeled sneakers on   Waiting to play tennis in the noonday sun   I had my white shorts rolled up past my waist   And my wig-hat was fallin' in my face   But they wouldn't let me on the tennis court      I gotta woman, she's so mean   She sticks my boots in the washing machine   Sticks me with buckshot when I'm nude   Puts bubblegum in my food   She's funny, wants my money, calls me, "Honey"      Now I gotta friend who spends his life   Stabbing my picture with a bowie-knife   Dreams of strangling me with a scarf   When my name comes up, he pretends to barf   I've got a million friends      Now they asked me to read a poem at the sorority sister's home   I got knocked down and my head was swimmin'   I wound up with the Dean of Women   Yippee, I'm a poet and I know it, hope I don't blow it      I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet, so strange   So I look like a walking mountain range   And I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horse   Out to the country club and the golf course   Carry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds      Now you're probably wondering by now   Just what this song is all about   What's probably got you baffled more is what this thing here is for   It's nothing, it's something I learned over in England