[Marshall Holman] and Gary Dickens, get in line for your ass kickin's.
{John Petraglia], [Norm Duke], [you're] so lame it, makes me puke.
[Who among] the pro bowl secot
[Dares] to don his wrist protector.
Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his wrist is hurtin'.
Hey Mark Walfey, Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl?
How 'bout [Dicky Weber] and his son, Pete? I'll turn the motha fuckas to cream of wheat!
A lot of these lyrics are incorrect.
[Marshall Holman] and Gary Dickens, get in line for your ass kickin's. {John Petraglia], [Norm Duke], [you're] so lame it, makes me puke. [Who among] the pro bowl secot [Dares] to don his wrist protector. Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his wrist is hurtin'. Hey Mark Walfey, Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl? How 'bout [Dicky Weber] and his son, Pete? I'll turn the motha fuckas to cream of wheat!