We’re walkin’ as a team;
I’m squawking for a shot o’ Beam.
We’re lopin’ on road with no oil sheen.

No mopin’, never a scream;
I’m waitin’ for truck with ice cream.
We’re lopin’ on road through hills so green.

What we gonna do when the trails ain’t dry,
turned into muddy tide?
Get on pavement that’s smooth and wide
beneath a huge blue, cumulus-clogged sky.

We’re walkin’ as a team;
we’re talkin’ about how we steam
’neath clothin’ gettin’ sweaty, not clean.

We’re oglin’ hills of green,
avoidin’ the cars that careen
on roadbeds so that we don’t get creamed.

What we gonna do when the trails ain’t dry,
turned into muddy slide?
Get on asphalt that’s smooth and wide,
ascend elevations not too high.

We’re walkin’ to the scene
of parkin’—we kept the lot clean.
We’re goin’ until next time we convene.