The music was new, black polished chrome And came over the summer like liquid night. The DJ's took pills to stay awake And play for seven days. They went to the studio And someone knew him. Someone knew the TV showman. He came to our homeroom party And played records and when he left In the hot noon sun And walked to his car, We saw the Chooks had written F-U-C-K on his windshield. He wiped it off with a white rag And smiling cooly drove away. He's rich. Got a big car.