Ahoy planet: we're for you old stone. We float above the Mercutios stepping on your toes below; we use the penthouse entrance; we love the good things in life; we don't believe in romance, but we pretend to. At the bar we knock micro-brews: better to drink cheap Pabst so Ladies will know we are men.. men in eighty dollar dungarees. We used to spray, then gel, now it's pomade tussle; we'd wear hammer pants if they came back into style. We don't do fun things lest someone who matters is there to see it. There's not time enough to change with the time: we'd knock down the mountains if flat ground came into opinion. We want you to know this bluetooth is necessary. If people are heading to a field to stand for something we shall be there. Call us fakes if you want, but we have eight hundred friends, and a four hundred dollar phone -- call us.
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