Cameo
He danced a nasty funk-style retro
He drove a bright red '67 GTO
He liked to let his Elvis-style hair grow
He was a black belt loaded with skills
He spoke slow choosing words that could kill
Honest people didn't need to fear him
But if you crossed this Native American
He'd whisper "Whit Man speak with forked tongue"
Before he's finished talking, you'd be goin' down
He'd repeat "Whit Man speak with forked tongue"
By then, you'd be dead and buried in the ground
He said his name was Cameo
He said his name was Cameo
He wore a white leather racing jacket
Zipped wide open so you could check out
His tanned body and his clean-shaved pecs
And the turquoise jewelry dangling from his neck
He said his name was Cameo
He said his name was Cameo