The lyrics are stupid—something about a slacker with no life and an ex-girlfriend or something and absolutely nothing interesting to say about anything—and the singing suitably listless. But, ho-lyyyy CRAP—at the three-minute-mark, this song just straps on a friggin’ jetpack fueled by pure riffage and starts melting your face right off your skull. By the four-minute mark, you’ve already turned the volume up well past anywhere it’s ever been before. At 4:15, “F*** YEAH!” is about as articulate as you’re gonna get. 5:17: you’re calling your buddies to come over so you have something to crowd-surf on. At 6:24, you’re skipping back to start this track over again. The rest of the record is pretty good, too, far and away the best thing ever produced by Florida surfers.