(guitar opening)

As the snow flies...
on a cold and gray New Jersey morn
I read your parody
laughter's born.
Here's your cinco.
(Here's your cinco.)

And Pacholek laughs.
'Cause if there's one thing he'll really need
it's a fake song that's funny, for the deed
here's your cinco.
(Here's your cinco.)

People, don't you understand?
I give give you and your song a hand.
'Cause I'm gonna be laughing at this piece all day.
Take a look at you and me
and at this world we see.
We can't simply turn our heads.
We have to type away...

Well, the world turns...
and the "President" with the growing nose
get swiped like Britney with no underclothes.
Here's your cinco.
(Here's your cinco.)

And my anger burns...
at that guy A-Rod, struck out tonight
with bases loaded and the game still tight.
He's a bozo.
(He's a bozo!)

Then I get the nerve and the inspiration.
This young man types away.
He has some fun, hits space bar.
He wonders if he's gone too far...

And the wingnuts cry...
As the song I wrote on the home page lands
I hope you'll tell me just where it stands:
"Here's your cinco."
(Here's your cinco.)

And as the people laugh...

On a hot and sticky Aussie night
another parody written right...

Here's your cinco.
(Here's your cinco.)
And Pacholek laughs.
(Here's your cinco.)

(Here's your cinco!)

(Oh, whoa!)