Tar - Cavanaugh, Open Mike Eagle, Serengeti

Yeah

Was walking through the woods with a stick and a footstool

Needed some new fruit so I picked me a bushel

Say something, I’m awake and rolled this game drunk

And I can’t function, I’m all blackface and late lunches

Stomach full of Quaker State, debate '88

Tell me butterball, but touch dissolves paper plates

I had my first kid at thirty

My second kid at thirty

My third kid at thirty

My fourth kid at thirty-one

I had fun

I got down

I get down

I get down

I get down

I had the most unprofessional dream

My chest and my spleen, and all this unrest in between

Yes, finishin' move, heat check

A knee as deep as DSV and seaQuest

At recess I suggest we jest, just as a reflex

If I get too anxious, here, Frank, hold my Wheat Chex

Soundwaves broken by airplanes

In the wall units, mother’s precious cranes

Out of four, only three remains

Damn

They all fell down

Let’s get down

Let’s get down

Let’s get down

(Let's get down)

(Had my fourth kid at thirty-one)