By the time he drags his weary ass home, his girl, his mama and you are sittin‘ around the kitchen table with a bucket of Popeye‘s. You look up at him without batting an eye and say:
„Have some chicken, bruh“
If you‘re a woman
The Imperial Crowns music makes ya wanna walk back into that office you been bustin‘ your ass in for the last nine and a half hours, and tell the boss‘s son who gave you that „relaxing neck rub,“ „If ya put your fuckin‘ hands on me one more time, I‘ll kick your narrow ass all the way to Cleveland and back“, then jump in your car, drive to Tijuana and have your interior tuck n‘ rolled, pull up to your boyfriend‘s pad Sunday morning, honk the horn ‚til he comes out and tell him:
„We‘re havin‘ church in the car, baby“