Being Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid Rock, I like to kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid around, but one thing I don't ever f###ing kid around with is disrespecting the flag of the United States of America. I am down for getting rowdy and rude. I'll drink liquor out of cool neon green cup and do burnouts in a hot rod, but don't ask me to drive a donut on the stars and stripes.
I know what that flag stands for. I have gone to Afghanistan to rap rhymes about freedom and Detroit to the tough men and women in uniform. They defend with their lives my right to sing about a titty and in return I respect the flag.
Step one to respecting a flag is to get a big one. Ain't a baby bib. Ain't a blanket. Got to be big. Maybe like 50 feet by 30 feet. The sort of flag they'd fly outside a county fair or something. I don't know what you call it. Just a big a$$ flag. Pop that sucker up behind your band. Let everybody know you're about the stars and stripes. F### it, man, let off some fireworks.
If the venue you're at sucks and you can't put up a big a$$ flag then you can hire a couple strippers to wear flag bikinis and dance around behind you. Keep things sexy. Red, white and blue sure do look good on a couple of single moms. You ain't had a real rock show unless your flags got butt funk.
Now sometimes I like to get involved myself. I've got a nice USA cowboy shirt. Some wild dog, raw man stuff. Tough guys wear this shirt.
You want to look real USA Don Johnson cool though man? You need to go to www.kidrock.com and pick up a kid rock made in America fedora to wear with your sick a$$ cool USA pimp coat. The e-store is now accepting Camel Cash.
I understand not everybody has the money for a white fur coat, but that's cool too. Just take a regular sized American flag, the sort any chump would have, and cut a hole in it for your head. Just slide that head right through, poncho style, my man.
All it takes to be true, is the red, white, and blue. Being a patriot is the ultimate tough dude coolness.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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