We're washing in
On waves we ride
     on the Crimson Tide
Washing up
Drying out
     it'll be alright--
Six pack Pacifico, it's all sympatico
and copasetic
          but it's so pathetic
you're living hermetic
     You can't even smell the trees.

It's an age--or it's becoming--
     one of reckless living
     and sin forgiving
Finding time to be alone

     I'm not alone
        I know
    Just one out of millions
Cover streets and subjects and bare midriffs
     pull sardonic smiles tight

Disagreements turn to fights
     but not on my watch
           not on my watch
           not on my
WATCH WHAT I CAN DO!

The Stupendous Calamari,
   that is what they call me
     'cause just
          watch what I can't do!--

Got eight long arms
And no axe to grind
Six-pack Pacifico, that still leaves two, you know
     One to pick up
     One to dial
     Tell you you were right
     Five to put away the empties
     One to save one for tomorrow,
     For the Crimson Tide
     But you never liked
     Never liked that movie much.

And anyway

     Time to take some time to
                       take some time
I got some time for drying out.