Lyrics:

This year I thought I'd do away with celebrity-endorsed barbarism
And to keep the people guessing get a bio-diesel engine
To cut my carbon emissions
Further my career by trading favors with aged ravers
You know, use the barter system
But I sat on my black ass sucking on sassafras
In my apartment bitching
Last year you were posing on the hood of a Lamborghini
In Gucci glasses and a tan bikini
Dating Meg White, eating tiramisu
I was rapping at a test site, banned from TV
And in therapy too
For pulling firearms out of Jell-O molds
With a sinister grin the color mellow gold
Running from the Southland PD

Pompous posies your party's no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can't offset the OG's cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you've made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we're getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do
...

This year I thought I'd cover you
With a thicket of wet unwarranted smooches
Rather than entertain sore feelings at board meetings
With these corporate mooches
Or being run over by un-sober law enforcement douches
It's sensible that I'm a randy-romper,
A panty-dropper with these whorish pooches
Last year I was passing out Green Party leaflets
When you're at the chalet on ski-trips
Getting neo-cons all peeved and miffed
Heaving and choking on beef-bits
'Cause I ain't appeasing shit
Wearing tutus and a Bluetooth in a Subaru
Yeah you too
Can get your knees split, bitch

Pompous posies your party's no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can't offset the OG's cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you've made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we're getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do

Last year they made buoys out of bloated bodies in the Big Easy
And nobody liked what the
Blowed embodied yet they bit freely
Rappers used recording booths
Like porti-potties being inexplicably cheesy
And I'm an out of work hobo
At the Mojave with a dripping squeegee
This year I'm going to make only one friend
This squatter girl at the opium den
Checking her viral load, wearing a bridal robe
Fresh off her codeine-drug bend
'Cause f@#$ them pop divas
They need pitch shifters and Brita pitchers
Full of mixed liquor, I'm a clit piercer
Of that bitch nigga that manages you

Pompous posies your party's no fun
Yeah whooptie-do
You can't offset the OG's cardio-sponge
Yeah whooptie-do
Though you've made millions off us
Yeah whooptie-do
This year we're getting off our butts
Yeah whooptie-do
Mutherfucker
Yeah whooptie-do