Lyrics

There's a missionary house
in a little Florida town
with a smattering of palms on its little Florida lawn
like a scrub crown

It hasn't been updated since
the 70's I'd say
and then you'd produce a blunt
and we'd burn it on the front porch

Everybody's dropping acid
to get 'em through their morning classes
glassy eyed on Old Milwaukee
I said "Great kid--don't get cocky"

Well the swamp's too savage still
and all of us are baked
but I thought it might be cool to explore that haunted pool
baby, Spring Break!

I got a creepy GPS
that will take us straight, no tolls
Yeah I heard it's pretty grim
better pack a pair of swim trunks

Everybody's dropping acid
to get 'em through Miami traffic
sweating out that dreaded vodka
blocking up their seventh chakra

Holler out a holy gospel
got me feeling Pentecostal
'99 is never over
just don't look back over your shoulder