| Friday night’s the perfect night to mow some neighbor’s lawn,
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| And Dave is drunk and at the helm before too long.
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| And Chris will gladly ride shotgun, 'cause navigating seems like fun,
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| Drunk and out of gas, they drive around and crash.
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| They’re driving through your yard, there’s nothing you can do,
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| Dave’s behind the wheel, and he’s had more than just a few.
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| Suburban families slumber in civility,
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| Awakened to the sights and sounds of the yard they’re blowing down in their
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| death machine.
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| Drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive…
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| Dave’s a midnight landscaper, and he’s working overtime,
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| And he is full throttle--full throttle tonight. |
| (Alright!)
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| He was almost home, just one more block, he had to hit that last
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| mailbox,
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| Dumped it in a ditch, ain’t that a bitch? |
| (Stoking the neighbors!)
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| Came time to run, came time to bail,
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| He was having too much fun to spend the night in jail.
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| He had no Triple A for a tow truck,
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| Called them anyway: Goleta, hear them say, Hey pal, you’re fucked!
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| Dave’s a decent guy, like most of us, until he drinks,
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| And then his liquid mind takes over how he thinks.
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| And then all that matters is having fun, pulling off the next beer run,
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| On one too many nights, the party’s over.
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| He’s driving through your yard, there’s nothing you can do,
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| Dave’s behind the wheel, and he’s had more than one or two.
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| Suburban families slumber in civility,
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| Awakened to the aftermath: the neighbors have been stoked… |