That tree needs some churned mud,
come fellas, let’s loosen it up;
just amble over casual-like, no hurry.
Lean by the gate, make the farmer fret
that we’ll stampede his scrawny ass.
One day when we lie in this field
the clouds will open, it’ll pour with rain
and then we’ll petition our rights.
Afterall, we’re just laid back suede dudes.
