See the LA boys
with their pants past their ass,
ready to be fucked by society.
The norms are worthless,
concentrated from the minds
of men in Armanis and Swatches.
Bathing in Paco Rabane
and wallowing in the sun,
protected with anti-UV moisturiser
and oversized, overpriced Aviators.
They wear their caps backwards,
leeching on the kids they were born to hate.
They think skateboarding's rad,
not realising that that particular pursuit
has had its dog days and mirthful Mondays.
They be poppin a cap in yo ass
and you can't help it, can you?
Feel sorry for them, I mean.
Just look at them
in their erectile dysfunctioning sports cars
and their slicked hair waving in the wind,
on their way to their cold, dark apartments,
masturbating with a dying man's handshake.
Then they wake up the following morning
to carry on this awful charade,
thinking people actually give a flying fuck
whether they have monogrammed towels
or remote-control shutters in their bedroom,
or a coffee machine that can churn out a sour latte in twelve seconds flat.
Their cars are bright, but their minds are dim,
so you with your pants past your ass,
drop them an inch or two lower
and show these idiots how little you care.