Album: Late Registration

Eighteen years! EIGHTEEN YEARS! Some woman had one of your children, and now you've been paying her child support for eighteen years. As Kanye tells it that was her plan all along, and it's destroyed the lives of a Super Bowl winner who's driving a Hyundai, and those who thought they were buying their kids Tyco (and not their exes lipo). It goes without mentioning that her plastic surgery has left her looking like, yes, Michael.

Each line sharpens the blade for the next micro-tragedy, until it culminates in the reason we still, almost ten years later, love hearing this song when we're out, waiting until the moment when we—man, woman, child—cheer along with Kanye: "We want pre-nup! We want pre-nup! yeaahhhh."

But just as we all herald the virtues of pre-nuptial agreements, the Voltaire-esque kicker to the sad tale of a procreation gone wrong reveals its sorry conclusion. The time it took our fallen, gold-dug hero to find out the child in question wasn't even his? Eighteen years. Get down girl, go 'head, get down. Foster Kamer