NO TERMINAL LANCES ALLOWED

[Intro] Terminal Lance, story of my LIFE! Everybody I came up with Finally picked up Corporal. Every single motherfucker... Except me. And tonight they're at the N.C.O. Club. FUCK THAT. [Verse 1] We all checked in together, Same platoon and same damn year, Now they're wearing crossed-up chevrons, While I'm fucking standing here. One by one they got promoted, Every bastard got advanced, Now they're throwing some huge rager— AND I'M STILL A FUCKING LANCE. Bass is shaking all the windows, Music pounding fucking loud, Every asshole I enlisted with Is somewhere in that crowd. Front door's covered, side door's locked, Back entrance hasn't got a chance. Then I saw the vent above the dumpster— YOU UNDERESTIMATE A LANCE. [Chorus] NO TERMINAL LANCES ALLOWED! WELL, WE'LL FUCKING SEE ABOUT THAT! All my boys are getting hammered, I AIN'T FUCKING MISSING THAT! Lock the doors! Guard the bar! Go ahead and check my pass! I'll find another fucking entrance— YOU CAN'T STOP A TERMINAL LANCE! [Verse 2] Dragged the dumpster to the building, Climbed the pipe and reached the vent, Belly-crawled through insulation, Like the fucking government intended. Every turn the bass got louder, Every crawl brought freedom near, Then beneath me came the shouting— AND I SWEAR I SMELLED THE BEER. Found a grate above the dance floor, Saw my whole damn crew below, Drinks were flying, tables shaking— THAT'S THE FUCKING PLACE TO GO. One boot planted on the crossbeam, Pulled the grate with both my hands, Ceiling cracked and down I fucking came— TERMINAL LANCE HAS LANDED! [Full Band Erupts] HOLY SHIT! THE LANCE GOT IN! [Chorus] NO TERMINAL LANCES ALLOWED! WELL, SOMEBODY FUCKING LIED! I CAME THROUGH THE GODDAMN CEILING— BUT I'M FUCKING HERE INSIDE! Raise 'em up! Turn it loud! Give the bastard one more chance! You can keep your fucking front door— YOU CAN'T KEEP OUT A TERMINAL LANCE! [Verse 3] Someone shoved a beer into me, Someone dragged me toward the bar, Someone threw a Corporal's blouse on me— NOW WE'VE TAKEN THIS TOO FAR. Chevrons sitting on my collar, Two cold bottles in my hands, While a room of drunken N.C.Os Raised their fucking beers to Lance. Then the doorway went dead silent. Duty N.C.O. walked in, Saw the ceiling, saw the ductwork, Saw the mess that I was in. Looked around at all the Corporals, Then directly where I stood. Even wearing someone else's rank— HE FUCKING KNEW. [Bridge] Tomorrow there's a working party. Guess who's fixing every vent? Maybe paperwork is coming. TONIGHT WAS WORTH THE CONSEQUENCE. I got inside. I found my boys. I got the beer that I was owed. MISSION FUCKING ACCOMPLISHED. Now somebody show me the road. [Final Chorus] NO TERMINAL LANCES ALLOWED! I DON'T FUCKING GIVE A DAMN! I BREACHED YOUR GODDAMN DEFENSES— AND I GOT IN LIKE I PLANNED! Write me up! Take my beer! Put my ass on working plans! I may never make Corporal— BUT YOU'LL REMEMBER THIS FUCKING LANCE! Lock the doors! Board the windows! You better fucking guard the vents! YOU CAN'T KEEP OUT A TERMINAL LANCE— AND I'D FUCKING DO IT AGAIN! [Outro] Front door? Locked. Side door? Locked. Air duct? ... SEMPER FYE, MOTHERFUCKERS.