“Thunderbird,” performed by Rick Miller and Mary Huff of Southern Culture On The Skids, is a wacky song about the joys and perils of guzzling cheap screw-top wine. One listen and the sing-along chorus and rooster-strut groove linger for weeks. But perspective can unveil the dark end of party street. The narrator’s behavior turns destructive. Niceties are jettisoned. Anger rises. So is there a moral trapdoor to this party-on folk tale? This much is certain: It’s an irresistibly good song - and you can dance to it with pants down - or so we hear.

Lyrics

Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird

I bought two quarts this morning
On my way to work
And if I drink them by myself
My head is gonna hurt

Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird

That stuff, it makes me crazy
As silly as it gets
I might just pull my pants down
And smoke some cigarettes

Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over

We don’t even need a corkscrew
We don’t need a fancy glass
Drink right from the bottle if you want to
Or you can stay at home and kiss my ass

Last time we got stupid
And punched holes in my wall
And when my landlord saw that
He punched us in our jaws

Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird

We don’t even need a corkscrew
We don’t need a fancy glass
Drink right from the bottle if you want to
Or you can stay at home and kiss my ass

Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over here
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over
Help me drink this Thunderbird
Why don’t you come over