The Orwells - Southern Comfort Lyrics

Drink by drink, I think, I'm thinkin'
Why not 'ya hangwith me this week-end?
And I can't walk and I can't dance
Give me a smile and then take off your pants

Saw her eyes in the rear-view mirror
Girls in the backseat, trunk full of beer
Eyes on the prize, eyes on their thighs
I'm not that old, but I'm gettin' really wise

Coke and rum, can I taste your tongue?
Won't stop sipping till we're both numb
Whose that girl in the short black skirt
Lotta lip gloss and the tight white shirt?

Hand down my pants, hands on my glass
Got to the bottom of the bottle, but I still can't dance
Like this brother with the hand full of ass
Bad ass shades and a bag full of grass