Joel Robinson: [carries in a blue screen] All right, well. We've got a really neat treat for you guys. We worked on some heavy charts about sidehackin'. Cambot, I want you to run that race footage in there? On the, uh, Chromokey. Okay, you guys - vamp.
JOEL: Yeah, I'm trapped up in outer space. Sometimes my life feels like a big pile of nothin'. So what? Word. I live with it. Dig it. But anyway, we [sic] and my bloods would like to wail out a song about our friends, the sidehackers. Goes like this:
TOM: 1, 2. 1, 2, 3, 4.
JOEL: Sidehackin' is the thing to do
When it doesn't hurt to have a low IQ.
Take a life you like and a little love.
The big band prize is twenty-five bucks.
Sidehackin'll quench your danger thirst
The stupid ones always seem to come in first, yeah.
Sidehackin' is one big bash;
The favorite sport of cheap white trash.
When you're on your sidehack, make sure you don't slip;
You'll end up with five metal pins in your hip.
Lean way back 'til you scrape your butt;
Make it look like a quarter-pound of ground chuck, yeah.
Oh, sidehack it, Crow!
TOM: Whoo! Oh, go, Crow!
JOEL: It's a sport that attracts a lot of racing fools.
A lot of people get hurt 'cause there are no rules.
All you need is a toxic landfill,
A cycle and a sidecar and an urge to kill.
Better get with the sport 'cause it won't last long;
The founders of this sport are laid at Forest Lawn.