Happy hour belongs to America's best-loved thugs
Here comes the 4-wheel prosthetic penises
Got yer gun racks, tractor tires and lynch mob drivers
We couldn't find a chick to sit in the middle
So we drink ourselves sick
Lean out the windows and pinch ass instead

We are the Goons of Hazzard
Glorified on your TV
We run down bikes and hitch hikers
And we know we'll get off scot-free
We're the vigilante heroes of your tough-guy flicks
Bashing punks