We’re on the cover of Rolling Stone
I call you up on the family phone
Let’s steal your dad’s car and drive around
Let’s turn the dial to a different sound

We’re MVPs of MTV
Don’t have to live like a refugee
We’re VIPs of VH1
Learning to fly and free fallin’

Blasting through the city and it’s full of dead ends
Always shooting apples off the heads of our friends
Victims of friendly fire
When we turn the TV on America sings

It’s like the sound of 18-wheelers bringing us things
We can’t stop we’re finally in the zone
On the cover of Rolling Stone