There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
The jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans, just clap your hands
Just clap your hands
Sweetheart bitter heart, now I can't tell you apart
Cozy and cold, put the horse before the cart
Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie
Chickity China, the Chinese chicken
You have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin'
Watching X-Files with no lights on
We're dans la maison
I hope the Smoking Man's in this one
Did you just what?
Is what you yes?
Did you whatever, whatever you
I guess?
The stalking horse
Was hides the guy
And which the pony is a phony was a lie
Heads up! There are some weird people on this group! Some people invited me to join them in the woods for a naked Satanic ritual - and didn't even show up!
MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no
Forces of evil in a bozo nightmare
Ban all the music with a phony gas chamber
'Cause one's got a weasel and the other's got a flag
One's on the pole, shove the other in a bag