(singer in background: "real men of geeeeniuusss ...")
Today we salulte you, Mr. After-Yard-Sale-Curbside-Jun
Only you can take a mildewed shower curtain, broken toilet, and rusted engine block and like a modern-day alchemist, turn it into flea market gold.
("it's leaking oil")
We count on you to stalk our streets, like a Nighttime Trash Angel, scouring them clean of debris that wouldn't sell for a nickel.
("I'm calling 9-1-1!")
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, oh Sultan of the Scrapheap. You save us our sweat, our toil, and a day-after trip to the charity donation bin.