By Ernie McCray
Katy Perry came out singing to a funky beat.
Next thing I know I was up
dancing on my old ass size 14 feet.
Every thing was mellow and sweet,
coming out the speaker in four-four time,
and, before my behind
got reassigned
to that chair of mine
at the end of halftime,
I was jamming
with Lenny Kravitz
and Missy Elliott too,
who looked like she had been cut in two,
since the last time I had seen her
doing the do.
And with the weight loss
she’s still the boss,
rapping rhymes as smooth as silk
and tasty as Mama’s Secret Sauce.
Just had myself a good time
with rhythm and rhyme
ever since Katy took the stage
with the vibes of the age.
And when the Super Bowl was through
and everybody was wondering Who
sniffed some glue
and decided to run that play,
I got back on my feet and grooved
to Maceo like it was just another day,
thinking what difference does it make any old way?
But I loved the game,
by the way.
Rooted for Seattle.
A fan of Pete Carroll
in a big way.
It’s just a game.
And what a game!
