THE S.U.V. SONG
Look there in your rear-view mirror Trying to make you feel inferior Is it mini-bus or hippopotamus A surrealistic design They sit high with windows tinted Gleaming chrome at which you squinted Tires that by their size seem to jeopardise Both your safety and mine SUVs, they S-U-C-K SUVs, they S-U-C-K At a frightening clip When their tires strip Watch as they swerve and tip In the Showroom, big and Glossy On the Road, those pigs are Bossy With their heavy load, think they own the road Think that they are The One They were made for rougher terrain In the city they're a huge pain And their drivers all feel so powerful As they give it the gun They're all owned by new-aged yuppies Baby bankers, X-Game puppies And they drive around, screwing up our town Much too wide for the street Let's outlaw them with a referendum It'd be easy, who'd defend them? We'd take back the roads from those SU Toads Wouldn't that be a treat? Now, the Sports Utility vehicle is fine in it's proper setting, but what are these oversized plushy hummer wannabees doing on the streets of New York City? Is Fifth Avenue a steep grade? Need your kayak when you're going to Central Park? Why remind people of cars from puppet animation shows? Why cross the line between vehicular and testicular? Just buy a station wagon. When you're cut off once too often By those four-wheel-driving coffins With their sporty names, and their bogus claims You will know the drill Find a SUV and tail it At a red light, go and nail it They'll call you a jerk, they'll need bodywork You will just have the thrill
Mark Mazzye (Drums)
Kris Parrish (Bass)
Paul Rubin (Vocal)
Ed Strelecky (Guitar)
