I try every day, on your behalf, to forget this. Some days are better than others. It begs so many questions my head spins. Inevitably, when the the spinning stops (after I vomit), I always come back to the question I’ve been asking myself for several years…..WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR LONDON BRIDGE?!?! At first I thought, “Please God, let her be British. Then she would be their fault”. That would make your London Bridge something like an L.A. Face or an Oakland Booty. But alas, you are not British, and neither is Sir MixAlot. (I know, I thought he had been knighted as well, but no!) Then I turned to a more literal interpretation, like perhaps I could commit suicide (because you inspire that in me) by jumping off you into the River Thames. But you are entirely too short for that. I am confounded. Like any other great work of poetry, the answer must be in the lines.
When I come to the club, step aside
Part the seas, don’t be havin’ me in line
V.I.P. cause you know I gotta shine (or pee, but whatever)
I’m Fergie Ferg and me love you long time (gross.me.out.)
Back to back, drop it down real low
I’m such a lady but I’m dancing like a ho (um….)
Cause you know I don’t give a shit, so here we go
How come every time you come around
my London Bridge wanna go down, like
London London London, wanna go down like
You know what, Ferg? It’s easy to put you in the box of, say, poetess. But a discerning fan knows that you are much, much more. I will not forget that you are both the voice and the look of a generation. Because my eyes can only handle still shots of you, I have just recently watched the video that accompanies this little ditty. As predicted, it caused me to suffer a grand mal seizure. When I awoke, I realized that when dealing with enigmas like yourself, answers only breed questions. For instance, how long does it take London Bridges belonging to viewers of this video to resume normal functioning?
So What? You're Famous.