Shirts off, Ice in

compendiums building momentum and mai-tais in the fridge,
if you wanna party, end of week, oops it's empty bottles.
and by slow I mean bon-fuego, and by now I mean luego,
but slow down and stretch a hammie and switch to sunshine yoga.
pull-up to handlebars and ice in pickle jars,
and I'm flipping the light switch while GaGa's under limbo.
It's a pants party and no you don't need sweaters,
there's not a thing to rival the bunkhouse swing.
a dozen friends baking dozens in a room
the coldest winter on record but warm inside the glass
point the boom at the circle and the pow to the mountians
you've got it, i've got it, we've got it, got it
It's love and it's power so let it shine and radiate.