100 Feet Tall

[Verse 1]

One time I met Mr. T in New York in the 80s

I was 7/8-ish, waiting for a table at Carnegie

With my family who did not always agree on what was wavy

But would shut up once a week because we loved our fucking A-Team

Pops seen him sitting there, beard and Mandinka hair

Whispered so that we could hear, "guys, Mr. T is here"

Mr. T is fucking real?, I mean I know he's real

It's just we only seen him on TV, he's like a superhero to us

We were trying to catch a glimpse, my mama said "don't make a scene

He probably having lunch with friends, I think they 'bout to pay and lеave."

I'd never seen a famous pеrson let alone Baracus

He bout to walk right by us, that's more than I could process

I felt a mighty presence entering my elbow room

Looked up and seen the rings, each its own yellow moon

I seen enough gold to break the average neck in two

Feather hanging from the ear, gear that say don't mess with you

[Chorus]

No fools, no suckas

Be good to your mother

No dummies, no punks

I pity every last one

One, one, one

[Verse 2]

Mr. T's a hundred feet tall (He's five foot ten)

Arms like trucks, probably punch through a wall

My father said his name and sorta nodded to acknowledge him

Which would in turn confirm that this was not some type of hologram

Big, warm smile earring to earring

From a television toughie to endearing it's eerie

Started rubbing his belly, then a quip for the pups

"It take a place like this to fill Mr. T up"

Get it? For those of you who don't know the establishment

They're famous in Manhattan for serving gigantic sandwiches

We shared a laugh about the portions

A humanizing peek behind the on-screen performances

He kept it brief, said his piece and with that

Disappeared in a cloud, mystique obscenely in tact

He played it perfect to a nervous kid he met at his peak

We spent the meal like "holy Moses we just met Mr. T."

[Chorus]

No fools, no suckas

Be good to your mother

No dummies, no punks

I pity every last one

One, one, one

[Verse 3]

Close to 40 years have passed

My hair is gray, my belly's fat

Still when I hear his voice I'm 7/8-ish back on 7th Ave

Now with a perspective that I never had

Respect for who he's been and is, and questions I won't get to ask

About this one Chicago boy, the youngest of a dozen

Who was drawn to throwing suckers out the club for bringing drugs in

Then scouted by Stallone who sends the Rocky part

He bodies it, on Letterman he says he primarily still a bodyguard

Huh, born protector, icon or community

Plus network television like a rocket to the moon of cheese

Pro wrestling, cartoon, comic books, records

Break to beat cancer, then he back to spread the message

Look, never talk to strangers

Stay in school, don't hang out where the yay is

Love yourself, and fuck designer labels

Thank him for the guidance

Thank him for the cereal, seriously it was righteous

[Chorus]

No fools, no suckas

Be good to your mother

No dummies, no punks

I pity every last one

One, one, one