Happy Birthday, Seymour

Seymour stepped out of the convenience store Restroom and laughed real loud With a belch, he called the cashier a whore Then stumbled his way on out Seymour, with your beer-stained tank top Fire up that grill Happy birthday, Seymour, hope fifty treats you well Here's a roll of quarters, take the wife to Taco Bell Happy birthday, Seymour, you greasy pile of filth Why the hell did you leave stuff for your mower in your will? Oh, I hate to say it, but times are different now Your spotlight high school football days are gone Quit clinging to the past, the roaring of the crowd And throw another beer can on the lawn Seymour, with your plaid cargo shorts Fire up that grill Happy birthday, Seymour, hope fifty treats you well Cause we all know that forty-nine was quite the living hell Happy birthday, Seymour, you greasy pile of grime Get your life together, and quit wasting all your time