1, 2, 3
The valet pointed me through the door
One more shot and you're on the floor
If cash talks, yours is a lion's roar
Guesquire, Christian Dior
You're the a**hole amba**ador
But your friends obey like labradors
I vomited on the alpine decor
It's okay, your daddy gon' buy some more
Hey, hey, hey
All your friends from school are here
Your frat boys got the rufies near
What will they want when you're out of beer?
Your parents' c**aine
Your graduation monster bash
The maids will pick up all the trash
In almost every room is stashed
Your parents' c**aine
Your daddy gon' make you VP of Sales
Don't mix good sh** with the ginger ale
Pacific Heights ain't Sunnydale
You could murder somebody and be out on bail
Your mom's Amtrak, she's on the rails
So many bumps thought it was braille
One day, we're all gonna tip the scales
'Cause I gotta crew too big to fail
Hey, hey, hey
Steve and Katie shut the door
And f**ed all on the bathroom floor
Now they're up and looking for
Your parents' c**aine
Until you get that trust fund check
Pretend you worked for your respect
Janie's asking if she can test
Your parents' c**aine
All your esteemed colleagues and guests
Are here to celebrate your success
They only say, "Good luck" in jest
Your fortune guaranteed at the breast
And Dave, who lets you win at chess
Is with your girlfriend in her dress
They're tired of being your marionettes
You'll mourn in Rio via company jet
Hey, hey, hey
Your daddy's got a business plan
Which made wars in Afghanistan
It bought your house in Bangkok and
Your parents' c**aine
Narcos kicked my windows out
They beat and dragged me out the house
They don't give a f** about
Your parents' c**aine, your parents' c**aine
Oh no
They don't give a f** about your parents' c**aine, boys and girls
And another line for you, and another line for you
Now do the world a favor and blow your f**ing brains out