Never was a sook. Dusty crap, I hated to look.
Now a closet wanker with a stack of faded old books.
I'm snapping clips by the million of trips with the children.
Ooh, an image that I took at the pavilion!
Yelling: ej-ect any clips that I clicked really quick while I stick,
Every darn aspect of our treks,
With the sea-creatures up at the beach with a view in Peru.
Scotching tape in a scrapbook or two.

Oh I squeal, eat popping corn, glossy snapshots are like meals.
When I'm seeing on these sheets page-to-page of gleaming reels.
Cleaned Aegean, quaint old holidayin' with the whales,
All our sight-a-seein'. Setting presentation of bitchin' tales.
First you peel it, seal it. Call your peeps up, reveal it.
Weakened knees and hell all sleeves are full of bolder colours,
These fit in their twenties. Plenty of these memories.
To feed by the season into this big book of family.

Oh, nostalgia. These folders rolled up in bunches don't crunch.
Valued like a doll or golf cup.
Oh, nostalgia. Leave 'em in the cellar. Groan when they're flaunted.
Secretly adore it.
[x2]

I love Christmas and stuff, can't get enough.
Down the foyer and I'm looking for pets to morph,
Into rather yucky models you would bet were stuffed.
I'm decorating all the cover stockings, set with fluff.
Line the pixels, every pic I take gets fixed, filled,
Wrestle clippings onto other grounds like jigsaws.
Who sees mullets on goony ass uncles? I just cull it.
Disgust doesn't happen when I tap on imacs, voila!

No cracks at how fat a cousin is with a burger but,
I just purge it with click-clacks... and then here's Big Mervin and
Listen: his belt in the loops, no holes in his shoes.
You can't tell he's poor, dude, because I've altered the suit.
Every photo's faults chopped, hauled the spots,
All you see are pictures humming like Travolta pop.
Coming in packing that makes yuck stuff sparkle lots,
You'll all get shocked, by quality folder shots.

[Chorus]

My clips all glow, yo like glitz though you're hawking sputum.
There's no tacky or wack quick-fix, not looking ruined.
Each pic recropped, with the help of PhotoShop to do it.
You view it and... look how I cut these pictures: f***ing poet!
You other suckers could never view bits like my true beaut clips.
Most people buy it, your books show-just how much you're clueless.
Don't ever compromise my whole box of kudos.
My clips are spilling with cleverness, rockin' rufus!

Each pic per flock glistens all around, mixed in my book.
Mission: to have found mum's films, to have checked how they look.
Wishing that my loud, obese children could start to pretend,
That they're loving our bad hike. Instead I just sketch a grin.
Oh, my photo album is filled high with lyin' to grab 'em.
I've been tryin' for my lively archives to go platinum.
And if crapping on makes it seem like my albums are happenin',
Then just clap as I rap on with my photo habit snappin' on.

[Chorus]

Move left, move left, no left, right, left!
Move left, move left, no left, right, left!
[decrescendo notes]
*Click-clack*