Somewhere in Iowa City’s outskirts lives a man
Whose dad had a sex change when his son was ten
When your father’s a eunuch you just do what you can
To prove that you love him, recipe but that you’re your own man
So my friend wants a bar, wants a bar, wants a bar
He’ll call it “my dad’s balls”
And at the end of the bar, in a jar, in a jar
He’ll keep his dad’s balls
Yeah my friend wants a bar, wants a bar, wants a bar
He’ll call it “my dad’s balls”
And at the end of the bar, in a jar, in a jar
He’ll keep his dad’s balls
His dad has a boyfriend, a fat bearded biker
Who doesn’t talk much, and may not even like her
But when you’re the ugliest woman in Iowa City
It’s enough to have someone who tells you you’re pretty
That’s why…
CHORUS
He’ll have the pick of the girls at the end of the night
Because that’s every Brooklyn bartender’s birthright
With the balls in a jar at the end of the bar
They’ll all know exactly how lucky they are
When he runs a black comb through his pomaded hair
And looks through his jeans for his favorite pair
When he carefully splashes on vintage cologne
And you get a whiff of his testosterone
you’ll see why…
CHORUS
