The sun reflects off of the waves at sea. Rain support roots that implants the tree. There's a breeze in the park, kites fly high. Under the branches, convertibles fly by the sky.
Yeah, it's time to do it like a g.o. once again. You know in 1989 we knocked on the door. In 1990 we beat on the door. Now it's 1991 and we fiend to kick this muthafucka in.