| The bars is open, everybody order your Amstel
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| Put the hot dog on the grill, though that fell
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| Don’t tell Gunt about the new dance called the Elephant Front
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| With Kelly the smut, the bellies we hunt
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| The Pac Bell phone, the cellies we want
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| She stood up, don’t tell me this cunt
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| Football’s back, a kick and a punt
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| On planes I kick and I jump
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| Kool-Aid, pump the cherry fully loaded like Herby hit bumps
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| They howl on that Burberry, surroundin that turkey
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| Too cold to go slow down the street eatin coleslaw
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| In a Barney suit, I see him gettin harassed and stopped by the po-po
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| That’s the guy… ask him but he don’t know
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| His lyrics can’t get up to a certain height
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| They come back down the hill, I tell him, I won’t go
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| Yeah, his lyrics gave up on him
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| They went up the hill, came back down
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| It was too steep to try to make it
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| Can you imagine a rhyme, walkin back down the hill
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| Tellin, the poet, I won’t go |