Biography:
Bloodhound Gang was a satirical American alternative rock band from Collegeville, Pennsylvania, United States, mixing a punk rock sound with hip-hop and electropop. The group formed in 1988, and they originally traveled all over Pennsylvania, with frontman Jimmy Pop having a strong 'Philly accent'. With a penchant for off-color jokes and a taste ranging from toilet humor to observational comedy, they're ironically named after the kid-detective ring on an 80s PBS kids show.
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Other songs:
- Fire Water Burn
- Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
- The Bad Touch
- The Roof Is On Fire
- Three Point One Four
- Uhn Tiss
- Vagina Song
- Bad Touch
- A Lap Dance Is So Much Better When The Stripper Is Crying
- Along Comes Mary
- Altogether Ooky
- American Bitches
- Clean Up In Aisle Sexy
- Dimes
- I Hope You Die
- I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks
- Im The Least You Could Do
- Jackass
- Magna Cum Nada
- My Dad Says Thats For Pussies
- Pennsylvania
- Ralph Wiggum
- Right Turn Clyde
- Screwing You On The Beach At Night
- Socially Awkward Penguin
- Something Diabolical
- The Ballad Of Chasey Lain
- Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss
- Uncool As Me
- Your Only Friends Are Make Believe
Four years of hard work!This month of May we celebrated four years on the air. We continue working on the dissemination of this wonderful instrument, thank you for participating in our story!
[Verse 1]
G D C C
Raise your hand if you like American bitches
G D
Locked in girl on girl kisses
C Am
Well, I do
G D C C
You're just mad you can't score American bitches
G D
So you're blowing up shit, which
C Am
Just goes to prove
C Am G D
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
C Am G D
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
D
What kind of a man sits Indian style?
[Chorus]
G D C
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Am
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
G D C
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Am Em Em
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
[Verse 2]
Trust me holmes, you would kill for American bitches
And the freedom of tits if
You only knew, who-hoo
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
(What kind of a man sits Indian style?)
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
C
Come to Infidelphia
Am
And fall in love with the unholy
G D
My boy knows this stripper that looks just like Angelina Jolie
[Bridge]
C
Just
Am
Don't bring up
G
What that club
D
You belong to does...
D
Dungeons & Dragons
[Chorus]
[Outro]
G D C
Where I come from bras are booby traps
Am x4
And soft targets have a bikini wax
G D C C
Raise your hand if you like American bitches
G D
Locked in girl on girl kisses
C Am
Well, I do
G D C C
You're just mad you can't score American bitches
G D
So you're blowing up shit, which
C Am
Just goes to prove
C Am G D
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
C Am G D
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
D
What kind of a man sits Indian style?
[Chorus]
G D C
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Am
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
G D C
Camping with your bros, as your playoff beard grows
Am Em Em
Ain't gonna get your wack ass laid
[Verse 2]
Trust me holmes, you would kill for American bitches
And the freedom of tits if
You only knew, who-hoo
That eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
Yes, eighteen year old bombs are dynamite
(What kind of a man sits Indian style?)
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
C
Come to Infidelphia
Am
And fall in love with the unholy
G D
My boy knows this stripper that looks just like Angelina Jolie
[Bridge]
C
Just
Am
Don't bring up
G
What that club
D
You belong to does...
D
Dungeons & Dragons
[Chorus]
[Outro]
G D C
Where I come from bras are booby traps
Am x4
And soft targets have a bikini wax
Blue Diamonds
Blue Foundation
Blue Kid
Blue Mink
Blue October