Down in the New Jersey town of New Brunswick
I got run down by a Mexican girl.
She drives as bad as a New Jersey native.
Assimilation, she gave it a whirl.

Blacker than night are the streets of New Brunswick.
Mayor Jim Cahill don't get lights replaced.
Drunkards they stumble down George Street's broad sidewalk.
English or Spanish, they still are disgraced.

One night a wild young frat boy came in
too much beer, he's breaking wind...
Sloshing and staring, a drink he was sharing
with hot young Marlena, the girl that I loved.

So... in anger
I challenged his right for the love of this maiden.
You should have heard the bad words that he swore.
He tried to get off the old vinyl barstool.
The handsome young stranger passed out on the floor.

Just for a moment, I stood there in silence.
Marlena said, "Mike, just look what you've done."
I told her, "Honey, my fist never touched him.
He was all filled up with Coors Light, the bum."

Out of the Golden Rail Pub did I run
to where my bicycle's tied...
Unlocked the metal and slammed on the pedals
down Easton Avenue's hill did I ride

just as fast as I could
from the New Jersey town of New Brunswick
across the bridge to fair quaint Highland Park.

Back in New Brunswick, there's girls who are shirtless
in a sorority called ZTA.
Short for the Greek letters Zeta Tau Alpha
it's known as "Zits..." I must go, what the hey.

I get my helmet and ride toward the bridge
across the old Raritan...
Maybe tonight a young vixen will find me
and tell me through boozy lips that I'm her man.

And at last, here I am
on the bridge overlooking New Brunswick.
I see the New York train rumbling across.
I pedal off to the Union Street frat homes.
I'll show those Greek nasty geeks who is boss.

Off to my right I see five drunken frat boys.
Off to my left are a dozen, oh shucks.
Run to the trailers on old College Av'nue.
Eat a Fat Koko from Abdul's grease trucks.

Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
a deep burning pain in my side...
It's not the frat boys, it's food of the grease truck.
I'm feeling queasy, unable to ride.

But my lust for the buxom young lasses of Rutgers
pushes me on and I can't stop to rest.
I find a cute one who's reading Scott Turow.
I feel my fingers go over her chest.

From out of nowhere, her fist it has found me
sends me right into the street on the fly.
Sends me into the path of Campus Buses.
One gasp for air and now, Michael...

Goodbye.