Funky Cold Medina 'Y2K (radio mix)
Your nose is runnin' and your eyes are red
Your head is achin', you'd be better in bed
From the bottom of your fever to the throbbing in your toes
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You're searching madly to find a cure
But the mercury's rising to a hundred and four
You've got a beauty, a bad ass, the mother of them all
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
Ain't no use in fightin' it
Get into bed and try to sweat it out
Hot toddies won't help you, warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you, hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it, ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about it, you can scream and shout it
Hot toddies won't help you, warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you, hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it, ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about it, you can't fight it
Foreign bodies in your Kleenex, you've got no taste at all
While your system is dyin', the bugs are havin' a ball
You've got a beauty, a bad ass, the mother of them all
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
Your head is achin', you'd be better in bed
From the bottom of your fever to the throbbing in your toes
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You're searching madly to find a cure
But the mercury's rising to a hundred and four
You've got a beauty, a bad ass, the mother of them all
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
Ain't no use in fightin' it
Get into bed and try to sweat it out
Hot toddies won't help you, warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you, hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it, ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about it, you can scream and shout it
Hot toddies won't help you, warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you, hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it, ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about it, you can't fight it
Foreign bodies in your Kleenex, you've got no taste at all
While your system is dyin', the bugs are havin' a ball
You've got a beauty, a bad ass, the mother of them all
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
You've got a cold, you've got a cold
Credits
Writer(s): Matt Dike, Mike Ross, Marvin Bruce Young
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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