I
So I’m rolling down the ave in the afternoon,
Nissan truck and I’m stuck on a funky Zapp tune.
Nigh wreck my shit as I’m scoping some leg
and it’s Julie and Mark, they’re cold chillin’ a keg.
I’m never one to pass up on a cup of the brew,
so I called up my crew at a quarter to two.
Pulled up my truck and they jumped in the back;
we dismiss the crack for a fat twenty sack.
Overflowing with joy for a solid day.
Maxing and relaxing like Madonna’s “Holiday”.
I.V.’s all lazy and sleek in the sun –
we’re sick of the schoolwork, Friday’s for fun.
Zen and the Art of Drinking Beer
on the porch of the place right now, right here.
You know I love to be loved by the girl I adore,
even though she’s at Dave’s, buying smokes at the store.
Once in a while I smile, switch my style
and give thanks to my brother at Stanford named Kyle.
Yeah I’m dropping names left and right:
so check this one out, his name is Cormick White.
He strikes fear into the population at large;
some call him cue ball, I call him the Sarge.
In charge of the funky fresh style I present
by kicking the shit out of the bucketheads.
He’s riding shotgun in my funky fat ride
bumpin’ Paul’s Boutique and ranking side to side.
Scott Seder in the back cold packing the nine
to keep silly sucker crews like youse in line.
I’m here with my gear for a ridiculous rap,
we’re steering for beer, now give me the tap.
I put my feet on your counter ‘cause I even sit tall
with my posse of persons – we’re just having fun, y’all.
II
I slosh beer in my cup ‘cause it’s time to get ill
and like Billy Ocean I’ve got a licence to chill.
I like my tunes played loud so we’re raising the roof,
if I was Arsenio Hall I’d get continuous woof.
I’m so large, you might mistake me for chunky,
but I’m naturally funky, drinking Brass Monkey.
I choose a good groove, people start to dance,
I do the Mum-ra, Skeletor, and the Buffalo Stance.
Anything can happen in Isla Vista –
Sianie’s in town, that’s Cormick’s sister.
We’re all drunk as hell but fuck it, bro.
My friends are so fresh, we’re the Muppet Show.
My fiancee’s finer than Michelle Pfieffer,
and hopefully Ian’s got more Jagermeister.
I wobble like a weeble but I never will fall
with my friends and their friends – we’re just having fun, y’all.
III
Here comes the message for our generation:
we have on occasion made separation
between ourselves and some category we decide
that is beneath us because of our pride.
Why are we looking to divide our races,
colors, creeds, religions, and sexes?
It doesn’t make sense to try and shift the blame
by pointing a finger, and calling a name.
I’m willing to take my share on my shoulders.
Prejudice can’t get any fucking older.
Now it’s our problem, tomorrow our kids’,
so stop your whining. I’m sick of this shit.
Mothership connection. U-N-I-T-Y.
A pretty simple concept; I’d like you to try
to be civil to your neighbor, a little respect –
it doesn’t take Erasure to tell you how to act, fool.
IV
I’ve got friends in high places, friends in low places,
girlfriends and boyfriends of all colors of faces.
We’re all at this house party, dancing and shaking;
here comes some hotties, but sorry I’m taken.
Everyone can come and have a good time,
but I’m colorblind when you throw up a sign.
Julie’s going wild and she’s taking her clothes off;
I’ve located the bathroom if my cookies I toss.
I can even rap through a technicolor yawn –
there’s never a point when I’m too far gone.
I drink like a fish and I smoke like a chimney.
I promise good times for everyone with me.
Mark’s got my back as I’m sacking the track,
Dave Parrish in the house and the 8 ball’s back.
We’re bursting at the seams, tight jeans is the call;
mine are cutting off my circulation, but I’m just having fun, y’all.
V
Mike Hedrick’s over there with a glassy-eyed stare;
Valcones is toking in my favorite chair.
Shit. It seems like the world’s here,
but that’s what happens when there’s good free beer.
It’s a get-together, sort of a sociable thing;
people like to talk, laugh, dance, and sing.
I saw my girl Cindy and she’s pouting for sure
because I didn’t include a little cut from The Cure.
Now I’m outside for a breath of fresh air.
I’m so sauced I like Cory’s derriere.
John Monge in effect and he’s doing the deuce;
this party’s like an old pair of socks getting loose.
Balzano in trouble with a lungful of smoke.
Chronic hydroponic and that’s all she wrote.
Pedro’s passed out, y’all, the son of a gun,
but never mind him, we’re just having fun.
VI
The roof is on fire but we don’t care.
We’re spinning through the music with plenty to spare.
No one’s driving home, no one’s calling a taxi.
We’re not going to sleep so don’t even ask me.
Everything’s done with having fun in mind.
You’d better get yours ‘cause I’m sure to get mine.
Curt, Jane, and Jean roll up in the Jeep
and I reassure Jean we didn’t invite the creep.
Wine, whiskey and song, beer, women, and men;
we started a three and it’s half-past ten.
This jam’s still rolling – we haven’t begun
and when the cops show up we’re inviting them in.
I’m dreading my hangover, wait ‘till morning
when I have to get drunk to stop the room spinning.
Come to the party? Give me a call.
It’s like Animal House, and I’m just having fun y’all.
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