To the tune of the chorus of Seasons in the Sun.
We had joy, we had fun
We went streaking in the sun,
But the cops, they had guns,
And they shot us in the buns
To the tune of Rawhide.
Ballin’, ballin’, ballin’,
That boy, he keeps on callin’,
His crabs, they keep on crawlin’,
You thought he was the right one,
But he was a one-night stand one,
He’s shootin’ blanks with his gun,
Pick him up, take him home, ride him hard, make him moan
Wake him up, saddle up, Send him home
Chapped hide… Yee Haw!!