| We goan' party like we just came home from war
|
| And have an old school Roman orgy
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| We goan' party like it’s Mardi Gras
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| And we all gettin' drunk in Old New Orleans
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| I’m-a take it back to the Golden Ages
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| Before the plague made rap so dangerous
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| Back to a place where the most contagious
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| Rash was behavin' so outrageous
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| Back in the day, when no cow was sacred
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| That’s when the pagans would go out naked
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| To dance and play and have wild relations
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| The passionate way, with no hesitations
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| This place is a nomad oasis
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| Where people go mad or go back to basics
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| As some grow fat on soul saturations
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| I’m so glad I know where that place is
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| Where no rat races sow active hatred
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| And most have nothin' but mo' happy faces
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| We goan' have one of those celebrations
|
| If we gotta take it back to Cro-Magnon ancients
|
| We goan' party like we just came home from war
|
| And have an old school Roman orgy
|
| We goan' party like it’s Mardi Gras
|
| And we all gettin' drunk in Old New Orleans
|
| We goan' party like a war is over
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| And no one in the downtown core is sober |
| A cornucopia of gorgeous odors
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| Roaring motors, and four-leafed clovers
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| ‘Cause the whole world over there’s no more exposure
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| To any explosions, swords or soldiers
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| And no more extortion of foreign cultures
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| Where people get treated like organ donors
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| For the vultures; |
| party like there’s no more onerous
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| Bulldozers or border closures
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| An no courts either to lord it over
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| The people, and ignore the voters
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| And no more debt-loads and mortgage holders
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| And no poor workers and remorseless owners
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| Party like the weight of all chores and homework
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| Is born no more by mortal shoulders
|
| We goan' party like we just came home from war
|
| And have an old school Roman orgy
|
| We goan' party like it’s Mardi Gras
|
| And we all gettin' drunk in Old New Orleans
|
| We goan' get rowdy like it’s carnival
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| Mardi Gras in the heart of New Orleans, y’all
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| We got rich and poor, short and tall
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| We got garbage haulers and Barbie dolls
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| Blue-collar workers, rock stars and all
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| We goan' get retarded to start it off
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| And let the bar flow like a waterfall |
| As unconscious bodies get carted off
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| I know it’s hard to stop when the jar is involved
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| But it’s not your fault if you drop the ball
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| When it’s all yeast, hops and barley malt
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| And the floor ain’t really that far to fall
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| And your home ain’t really that far to crawl
|
| And it ain’t about logic, not at all
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| So don’t give no thought to the smartest call
|
| And get off the wall, ‘cause it’s a party y’all
|
| We goan' party like we just came home from war
|
| And have an old school Roman orgy
|
| We goan' party like it’s Mardi Gras
|
| And we all gettin' drunk in Old New Orleans |