Gonna Be Your Man

I'm gonna be your man (gonna be your man)
You're my biggest fan, I gotta give a little something back
I'm gonna be your man (gonna be your man)
See, you don't even gotta ask

I know, you don't want me to die,
but you need that lung pretty bad, and I'm the guy
in the ten-county area
ain't had malaria yet
plus the blood type (red).
It gets scarier: fed
on the corn, and you born a vegan.
Fate has indicated that I'm the man you're seeking.
Now you're freaking out, and that's okay,
having that much of another man inside you
isn't going to make you gay.
(Or what if it does? You need the lung.)

And play along for a second, you could get what I got:
the inexplicable ability to front (a lot!),
an inexhaustible nerdcore flow,
the charisma to draw eight people to a live show,
myopic vision, and an oversized head.
A girl at a convention told me once that I was good in bed,
plus I often meet a crowd and am greeted without booing.
Think of all the respiration you'll be doing!
Stop spazzing! It's just a lung.
Quit pointing out how I already donated you one.
Frontalot is sick of breathing; it's fucking boring.
All the time I've got the asthma, and the snoring.
And I ought to level with you,
the feds have got a warrant for a sample of my tissue.
They say I misused a certain substance and they'll get me.
So I'ma pass the lung along and get stepping.
Too late to protest, here comes the anesthesia,
and I'm gonna be your man, to dole the lung that you're in need of.
I'm just gonna. Discussion over. Drop it.
Hmmm... you look a little drowsy. Here's the next topic:
please lie motionless to indicate you wouldn't mind
if the doctor also swapped your fourteen inches for my five.