Well, you could always count on your friends to get you high
That's right
And you could always count on the 'rents to get you by
You could fly

And now they make you piss into a plastic cup
And give it up
The cup will probably be here long after we're gone
What's wrong?

They'll probably dig it up a thousand years from now
And how
They'll probably wonder what the hell we used it for
And more

This must be the cup the king held every night
As he cried

Well, maybe you should go out and write your own damn song
And move on