Albert Gore is so upset,

'bout what hasn't happened yet.

Bye New York, so long Shanghai,

While our house sits high and dry.



Though some fools may lose and drown,

We will all be getting down.

Claim the Beach Boys as our own,

Big Kahuna on our throne.



CHORUS:

We'll go surfing from my yard,

And it will not be so hard.

When the beach reaches my door,

Won't be driving any more.



When the water eats this turf,

Everyone will have to surf,

Though the Elders hate the stuff,

You and I will scream "SURF'S UP!"

(Even they will scream "SURF'S UP!")



Ooh Ooh - bah bah



Even from Orion's Belt,

You can see the glaciers melt.

All denial fades away,

And the oceans come to stay.



Some may try to build a dike,

Tell those fools to swim a hike.

Nothing stops what I crave most,

'Cause my neighborhood's the coast.