I was talking with a friend of mine
In L.A.; he liked to surf-ride. . .
Told me that he loved to go
To the nose and curl ’round his toes.
Then he said, in what’s called “surfer lex,”
Things in which one key word inflects:
Timbre slightly low from high—
“Cut it out!” I cry.

“Don’t “dude!” me like that. . .
’cause it’s driving me crazy—
Don’t “dude!” me like that. . .
It makes you sound lazy, hazy—
Don’t “dude!” me like that.

“Listen, buddy, can’t you hear
How annoying to the ear?
When I look around and I spy
You, my impulse is to fly
’cause you’ll lay on me that surfer lex.
I wish that you would first reflect
On how you address gals and guys—
Makes you not sound wise

“Don’t “dude!” she’s like that. . .
’cause it’s driving me crazy—
Don’t “dude!” she’s like that. . .
It makes you sound lazy, hazy—
Don’t “dude!” she’s like that.

You pump air from deep inside,
But all you’re saying: what is quite sadly, wrong.
I get this feeling when you smile and say
That word; I can’t take it no more.

Listen, dummy, can’t you hear
What you’re prating in my ear?
So why can’t you just call me “guy”?
Maybe I’d not want to fly.
But you lay on me that surfer lex;
That argot really tends to vex.
You’ll win no elocution prize. . .
Makes you sound unwise.

Don’t “dude” me like that. . . .