Guest
Folks I’d like to sing a song about the American Dream About me About you About the way our American hearts beat way down in the bottoms of our chests About that special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts Or maybe below the cockles Maybe in the sub-cockle area Maybe in the liver Maybe in the kidneys Maybe even in the colon We don’t know I’m just a regular joe With a regular job I’m your average white Suburbanite slob I like football, and porno, and books about war I’ve got an average house With a nice hardwood floor My wife, and my job My kids, and my car My feet on my table And a Cuban cigar But sometimes that just ain’t enough To keep a man like me interested Oh no, no way, uh uhh No, I gotta go out and have fun At someone else’s expense Oh yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah I drive really slow In the ultra-fast lane While people behind me are going insane I use public toilets And I piss on the seat I walk around in the summer time sayin’, “How about this heat?“ Sometimes I park in the handicapped spaces While handicapped people Make handicapped faces Maybe I shouldn’t be singin’ this song Ranting and raving and carrying on Maybe they’re right when they tell me I’m wrong...... You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna get myself a 1967 Cadilac El Dorado Convertable Hot pink! With whale skin hub caps An all leather cow interior And big brown baby seal eyes for headlights And I’m gonna drive around in that baby At 115 miles per hour Getting one mile per gallonSucking down Quarter Pounder cheeseburgers from McDonalds in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable Styrofoam containers And when I’m done sucking down those grease-ball burgers I’m gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag And then I’m gonna toss the Styrofoam containers right out the side And there ain’t a Goddamn thing anybody can do about it You know why? ’Cause we got the bomb
