I’m just a pimp on the Goodyear Blimp,
And each of my whores adores me.
Airborne ecstasy, and the healthcare is free,
And their door in the floor is above me.
I burst up like a mole if a dude gets too rude,
Levy out a toll, then lighten the mood.
“Bring out the whiskey!” I shout to the intern,
The whore leans to kiss me and continues to earn.
Recruiting cheerleaders and Autozone clerks,
We hire the cheaters and put them to work.
The people at Goodyear only fear fires,
As we peddle ass along with their tires.
I get stock options and lifetime replacement,
Plus it’s great fun being out of mom’s basement.
So how does a guy, with stutter and limp,
End up in the sky as a Goodyear Blimp pimp?
I answered an ad in the Zeppelin Gazette,
Seeking a lad before the teams met,
Down on the field where the match-up was set,
Super Bowl Sunday, Colts versus Jets.
It was Broadway Joe against the Baltimore D,
While Gina the Ho entertained for a fee.
I collected the cash, made sure all got paid,
Threw out the trash and my future was made.
For forty-four years I’ve patrolled the air,
Serving out beers while girls showcase their wares.
Met both my wives and countless great friends,
Living our lives full right to the end,
While sailing the clouds way over your head,
So lewd and so proud and making mad bread.
For I’m just a pimp on the Goodyear Blimp,
Forever the envy of all.