In a little while from now
when I'm a man, not a mouse
I promised myself to treat myself
to visit a movie house
and fall into my seat
and popcorn I would eat
and watch right there as old Sylvester
Stallone kicks some major keister
putting on the clamps
as the champ, Rocky Balboa
or John Rambo, whose war, you know
is never really ovah.
It makes me want to hurl
at each film he'll unfurl.
Stallone again, naturally.
Yo.

We cheered him in '76
and watched all his later tricks
and he blew things up, and we lived it up
and we all got our needed kicks.
But he went "Over the Top"
let the box-office money drop
then tried comedy, what a travesty.
He should stick to action thrillers.
But I saw "Rambo III," it was just some stupid filler.
And Rocky dumped that Russian bum.
Who's he fighting next, Godzilla?
It's making my brain bleed
'cause it truly is indeed
Stallone again, naturally.
Yo.

It seems that there are more bad films premiering every day.
They're well-intended, but just pretended.
What will we do? What will we do?

(instrumental break)

Stallone, again, naturally.
Yo.

And looking back over the years
as the rain's falling on my ears
I remember how I cried when old Mickey died
and Apollo's death gave me tears.
And at 58 years old
you'd think he could rest his soul.
He's a famous man.
He's got Adrian.
He's even got a Rocky Junior.
By now he's taken on every conceivable villain.
But can't resist a "Rocky VI."
Yo! Sly! You should be chillin'!
But ten bucks I will pay.
Whose film I see today?
Stallone again, naturally.

Stallone again, naturally.

Yo.