Classification update. Pluto. Dwarf. Still orbiting. Nineteen-thirty, Tom-baw clocked me, number nine on the chart Seventy-six years later they tore the title apart Few hundred in Prague put a card in the air “Not a planet,” they said — like I’m not still there Never cleared the neighborhood? Listen to this Hit the sub, noise complaints, now the block’s dismissed Charon in the passenger, circling a place Right between the two of us — a double-bass embrace [Charon ad-lib] Heyyy! [record scratch] Still here. [record scratch] Still clear. Nobody demoted the sub. They can change the name, They can’t change the orbit. They can move the label, They can’t move the low end. Still orbiting, Still orbiting, Dwarf or not, the bass still hits. Still orbiting, Still got heart, Pull up to the cookout, we still lit. Kuiper Belt cookout, Nix and Hydra on the grill Styx runs the door, Kerberos checks the bill Cartoon dog kept his name, he got to keep his bone I got “dwarf” on the paperwork, still I’m on my throne Mission Control says “copy,” I say “copy, turn it up” Two-forty-eight years, I ain’t even tired Minus three-seventy-five, but the low end’s fire Held the funeral for the title, cried a little, then Dropped the sub, lit the grill, did it all again [Charon ad-lib] Again! [record scratch] Still heavy. [record scratch] Still ready. They can change the name, They can’t change the orbit. They can move the label, They can’t move the low end. Still orbiting, Still orbiting, Dwarf or not, the bass still hits. Still orbiting, Still got heart, Pull up to the cookout, we still lit. Is it a planet? [crowd] Don’t care! Does it got bass? [crowd] Yeah! Is it cold out here? [crowd] Yeah! Do we got space? [crowd] Yeah! Eight planets in the front row, trying to look polite Pluto in the back with the sub on all night Neptune locked in three-to-two, we ride the pocket tight Never crash, never clash, that’s the rhythm, lock it right. Yeah, they stamped it “DENIED” on the planet application. But the orbit doesn’t check the paperwork. Then in twenty-fifteen a little probe flew by, Took a picture of my heart, said “hey, you’re still alive.” And riding in that probe, a pinch of dust, The man who found me, coming back to say hi. Theremin still sings when nobody’s watching. And the bass still moves the ice. Even out here. Still... Orbiting... Planet? Who cares! Bass? Yeah! Still orbiting, Still orbiting, Dwarf or not, the bass still hits. Still orbiting, Still got heart, Pull up to the cookout, we still lit. Still orbiting...
