P.O.N.T.I.A.C

Lyrics by Randall McKnight and Music by Randall McKnight, Symphony Tidwell, and Steven R. Trent

He grew up on the mean streets of Boulder

Thought his words would take him far

But the only thing the world would remember is a skinny white boy and his legendary car

He wears pants built for ten men

With a cap cocked to the side

He would spit his rhymes at all the ladies every time they took a ride

In his big (BIG) big brown Pontiac, you can hear it thump from outside

All the people, they laughed at him

No longer could he hide

In his big (BIG) big brown Pontiac

He keeps the dome light really dim

Poor Old Neal Thinks Its A Cadillac with the twenty inch gold rims LET'S GO!

SOLO

He does his white clothes every Monday (BAM)

Its only a means to an end

His mama pays him on the first of the month so he can fit in with his friends

Grape drink in a bag, to make it look just like wine

All the ladies he runs after, he likes to STICK! (break!) them in behind

Of his big (BIG) big brown Pontiac, his grill would always glow

That kid sure went spastic at the last ICP show

With a big (BIG) big brown Pontiac, its sure a sight to behold

Poor Old Neal Thinks Its A Cadillac, with door handles made of solid gold

SOLO

He's gangster in the suburbs

White boy in the hood

At the mall on the weekend

Only (Break) up to no good

With his big (BIG) big brown Pontiac

The brothers, they'll never know

The crib he hangs his head at night has a picket fence, whiter than snow

He parks his (BIG) brown Pontiac

In dad's garage off the street

Poor Old Neal Thinks Its A Cadillac

He's the other (Break)

White meat