I guess it starts with the Sharks

I guess it gets to the Jets

I guess these Bloods they can't stop bleeding

The fighting started friendly enough

Now everybody's making love to guns and tons of biker drugs

We used to fight with our fists

We used to fight over chicks and we kissed at the flicks

And people got pissed and they spit from the balcony

These English majors want to be some super genius novelists

They end up music journalists, chicks ain't that into it

We are the troubadours

And these are the news reports

Here we are in the holy war

Getting lost in the liquor store

Making love to hardwood floors

Now we go into the 4/4

We did the black and the tans, into the black and the blue

We did the Goats Head Soup, into the Tattoo You

And the crazy fruity drinks you made

The Grey Goose and the Gatorade

The liquid tan and lemonade

Made love to the waiting game

And the Right Brigade, that's the funny thing

It ain't just a money thing, it's a question of community

The liberty, the ecstasy, the love, the drugs, the unity

And the busts they look just like the Hey Kool-Aid commercial

They're breaking down the walls and they're tipping over tables and it tastes great

I hate these strychnine shakes

(Looking for a closer)

Clawing through the record crates

(Primping like a poser)

Slipping through the subway grates

(And you're trying to get underground)