You are the impersonator of another impersonator. He's been dead for three decades and your still singing about blue suede. It's with rage that my heart burns, when I see your side burns. You just impersonate for the loot. If I looked under your jumpsuit, I wouldn't find a heart that loved Presley. I'd find a heart that just yelled me, me, me. And I could take it one step more. If I looked under your pompadour, your brain would be trying to sort through the mist, not lost in the zen of Elvis. Before you go into cold Kentucky rain, I'd like to take a moment to complain. I don't think you take the king serious, I think you're trying to steal him away from us.