Mc Enroe's Poetry

I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe When he put the strings in glow John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe When he put the strings in glow John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe, woah John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe When he put the strings in glow John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John, John, John MC Enroe When he put the strings in glow My name is John MC Enroe Do you know my poetry? It will be written with blood With the blood of the bad referees My tennis bag smells like gun smoke And there's no tennis stuff anymore There's only strange books big maps And a picture of a girl with a strawberry face John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe, hey, hey John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe My name is John MC Enroe Do you know my poetry? My name is John MC Enroe Do you know my poetry? I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe I feel like John Mc Enroe When he put the strings in glow John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe, okay John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe John Mc Enroe! (Switch it up!)