Yo! It seems like forever that at Christmastime
I been gettin' down wit a "Woog's World" rhyme
I spent weeks, freakin' weeks, makin' up a poem
`Bout this kickin' town that we all call home
I used names like Joseloff and Landon and Pogue
(Which rhymes, ain't it true, with my own name, Wogue)
I fit in stuff like restaurants too
To give shout-outs to my favorite crew
At Spotted Horse and Viva, and of course the Duck
Wish a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and all that truck.
But that go to real lame, unnerstan' what I'm sayin'?
Makin' poems ain't easy, day out and day in
So I figure I'll spit in a different direction
Kinda like we got new blood in the last election
My boy Jim Marpe is now in the house
Workin' the Town Hall laptop and mouse
A new sheriff took over the Westport map
So I'm a-go celebrate with this "Woog's World" rap.
Give it up for my peeps at the Staples High School
Yo Dodig! Yo Farnen! Yo Addicks! You rule
Laddie and Shepro, Devine and Coach P
Your teams are the illest, any fool can see
You run and you tackle, you pass off the balls
You rattle and shake and bust down the walls
You kick off and kick butt and bust heads and then
You smile and shake hands and do it again.
Now cast yo' eyes over to the musical stage
Where so many artists are on the same page
Cellos and flutes, basses and oboes
They make the best music, together and solos
And when you got yo' Orphenians up there in song
Ain't nuttin' on earth that could ever go wrong
Give it up too for the Players who act
They so bad it's like Broadway, now ain't that a fact
And how `bout some props `cuz we don't have no fumble
Like they do if they wanna put "Rent" on in Trumbull.
Let's hop in my wheels, cruise on down to the Libe
Where Maxine, my main woman, gives a very cool vibe
You can build a small plane, you can print in 3D
Don't have money for streamin'? Sheet, take a DVD
Remember when back in the day it was "quiet"
This chick in the library, she sure don't buy it
Dude, just talk, smoke outside, come back in, check yo' pager
Eat some food, drink some joe, call yo' buds, have a rager.
Then treat your bitches to a real Westport treat
`Cuz Compo be where all the chill dogs go meet
They play catch and fetch, they run and they jump
They sniff at each other, they nuzzle and hump
They may do their business but man, clean up their poo
This ain't no latrine -- we live here too!
My rap won't go platinum if I leave out my hos
So -- sorry, ladies -- but listen, here goes:
Grab all yo' hos, tie `em up, take `em down
Bring `em in to somewhere it's all nice and brown
In addition to hos you'll need trowels and rakes
And shovels and seeds and plenty of stakes
The community garden on Hyde Lane: where it's at
But it's hot in the summer, so be sure wear a hat.
Y'all need a break from this gardening stuff
So go do somethin' that's not quite as tough
Play full-court hoops, or just 3-on-3
"But where," you be sayin', "is the place we can be?"
Are you stupid or what? The best game's at the Y
8 am, noon or 6, homey, give it a try
But there's less than a year to get your game on
Downtown -- then the Y is gonna be gone
Up into the sticks, to Mahackeno
They say it be fly. I'll check it out, bro.
It's time to get ghost. Bustin' outta this gig
I've had it with rappin' -- it's hard man, you dig?
Rhymin' is rough, it's sure gettin' me down
And then add the rule it be all `bout this town
So like Santa I'll jet, but I'll fly with a shout:
"Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Yo Westport! Peace out!"