Now this is a story all about how
These towers got burned right to the ground
And I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a smoking crater
In west Afghanistan born and raised
In poverty is how I spent most of my days
Building an infrastructure with Russian funds
Whilst the tribal system started to fill up with modern guns
When a couple of Yanks who were up to no good
Trained and funded Mujahs in my neighbourhood
The Soviets left and Bin Laden got mad
And said "you're moving to America to commit Jihad"
I got a plane ticket and when I got on
I revealed that in my shoe I was hiding a bomb
If anything I was mad 'cause I was served pork
But I thought, "Naw, forget it - yo Holmes, to New York!"
I flew up to the towers 'bout half past ten
And the onlooking media said "Oh no, not this again"
I looked at my kingdom, all these virgins were there
To sit on my bone, with the smell of scorched hair
