I got the voice, babe, and you got the rhyme,
But we're searching our pockets and can't find a dime,
And baby, it's only a matter of time,
'Fore we climb up the rope and our bell's gonna chime.
Step up to the plate, baby, swing, batter, batter.
Hit out the park, the sound barrier shattered,
And the people are talking all slander and chatter,
But they all look like ants from the top of the ladder.
And soon we'll have all of the things that we deserve,
Swimming in gold like the federal reserve,
The skeptics and haters will all lose their nerve,
When on platinum platters, their heads will be served.