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Andre spent three years all alone |
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in his car his only home |
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it was a Lincoln Continental |
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and Andre with his massive writing skills |
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obtained a memoir deal |
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for several hundred thousand dollars |
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now he lives in a house |
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with his sister and doubts |
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that he ever will write again |
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his new prime directive |
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is to be a detective |
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solving mysteries no one can |
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and who'm I to say what is right or ok |
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for a perfectly stand up man |
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like Andre |
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Andre even though you're 4 foot 10 |
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you are a giant among men |
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but not the giant people usually think of and |
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one day you will solve the perfect crime |
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satisfaction will be sublime |
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you'll get a write up in the paper |
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and now over the scanner in a desparate manner |
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a cry of shock and dispare |
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an officer's gone, no one knows whats wrong |
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he vanished to thin air |
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and Archibald Aspen he starts to askin |
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"who will save the day? wheres Andre?" |
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his name is Andre |
