We’re on the cover of Rolling Stone I call you up on the family phone Let’s steal your dad’s car and drive around Let’s turn the dial to a different sound We’re MVPs of MTV Don’t have to live like a refugee We’re VIPs of VH1 Learning to fly and free fallin’ Blasting through the city and it’s full of dead ends Always shooting apples off the heads of our friends Victims of friendly fire When we turn the TV on America sings It’s like the sound of 18-wheelers bringing us things We can’t stop we’re finally in the zone On the cover of Rolling Stone