Croakies. Boatshoes... Collars up. Daddy's money increased my social status...
"Dang, my loafer got smudged"
We are the suburban elite.
"Hey where y'all wanna meet?"

I've got something to f***ing prove man, I've really gotten something to prove.
Dude... Brah... let's go party tonight...
Maybe start another godda*n fight...
But it's all right... my coach knows the sheriff.

Don't stare...

At my car.
At my shirt.
At my girl.