Rick

Rick
You crash the party

Born in the desert of the upper east side
There was a guy who wants to party every day every night

Dressed like a martin colly
Hair shining bright

Rick
In the jeans with his head on the wall
But too bad he had to wait until its going to fall

And after all he felt as one of the best
The time was right to take a paper car escape to the west

Rick

You crash the party

We are waiting for an answer
But you think its alright

Rick

Please don't worry

You're invited every day
But not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times alright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times alright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

He is the God of his computer scene
He wants the cover picture
Of the apple magazine

But in the end he has to face the fact
That even p****s do it better
So he lost respect

If you want him to stay
You have to beg him to pray
Until the end of the day

He is so boring
And he is so gay-ay-ay

Rick

You crashed the party

We are waiting for an answer
But you think its alright

Rick

Please don't worry

You're invited every day
But not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times alright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times alright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh
Oh-oh oh-oh

So our rick
Is a boy with a harmless toy
And a sawfeet has no beak

He looks like a double of mr. Hyde
Or a dose of stinky meat-balls

Everybody knows he's ready for the job
Of the president of matzan

If you know him look him over
Like a homo with a gun
So run cause there's no fun

If you want him to stay
You have to beg him to pray
Until the end of the day

He is so boring
And he's so gay-ay-ay

Rick

You crashed the party

We are waiting for an answer
But you think its alright

Rick

Please don't worry

You're invited every day
But not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times allright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

Oh-oh oh-oh

We think good times alright

No doubt about we love you
Not on Saturday night

So our rick
Is a boy with a harmless toy
And a sawfeet has no beak

He looks like a double of mr. Hyde
Or a dose of stinky meat-balls

Everybody knows he's ready for the job
Of the president of matzan

If you know him look him over
Like a homo with a gun
So run cause there's no fun