The forecast is partly cloudy So party loudly And make sure that it's hearty sounding He's crowned king of the evening Whistling the chord swings to "The Sweetest Thing" A genie with a brown leather wish bag With the power to wring out the clouds like a dishrag Let it rain, soak it in Your electric brain and golden skin Needs to accept the pain and hold it in 'Til the coda stops Let that pressure in Fizz like it's soda pop The last ray of the setting sun Let it come The water pressure's better when it runs This is second to none Who gets the Motts? I not by chance I rain dance, I rain dance If they want to come Let them come I'll never run I'll yell until I see my severed tongue It weighs a metric ton Who gets the Motts? I not by chance I rain dance, I rain dance And there should be no discussion And this is the wrong time to drown in your Robitussin (So disgusting) There's a volcano erupting I'm just waiting for ya'll to say "no" to something Pick a card any card Penny pub or big bizarre tittie bar Keeping chrome rims on your shitty car Pretty bartenders get tricked with ya'll Citi cards Big cigars for the smoking Tricked by reflections Counting stars in the ocean (Oh shit) I'm just looking for my sun sign Your spine's crooked so you unwind