You see a freeborn cruiser, you want it painted black.
No colors on them any more, all 40's want to turn to black.
We see the girls driving by, dressed in their mudding clothes.
I have to turn my head, until her mustard FJ40 goes.
You see the line of Moab 40 rigs, and they're now all painted black.
Within jungles and just like my love, only Land Rovers never make it back.
We see people turn their heads, and slowly shift away.
Like a newly restored baby, blue just happens too much everyday.
I look inside my hood, and see her heart is black.
I see your rustic green door, and know you must have it painted black.
Maybe then we'll climb away, and not have to face the stone-hard facts.
It's not easy mudding-up, when your whole cruiser is less than black.
No more will our spring green go turn into some damn nordic blue.
We could not foresee this evil dune beige color happening to you.
If we look hard enough into the olive green fun,
Our love for 40's will laugh with you before the all white one comes.
(I want to see your bezel, bezel painted black - Black as night, black as oil -
I want to see the sun blotted out from all the sky blue ones)
We've not seen your dark green cruiser, but we want you to paint it black.
No color for your cruiser any more, we want your tub to turn into black.
You see the girl walk by, dressed in her rocking clothes.
You see us turn our head toward your 40 to see how dark yours can go.
Uahhh-haaaa-uuuuhhh-maaaaahaaahah-uh-mmmmmmuhahhammmmmm...