Wednesday, May 26, 2004
The Campaign for Real Rock
Don't try so hard to be different The cracks are beginning to show You drift like a cloud Through the festival crowd In a frock coat from Saville Row You've just been to an all-night party Where I have to admit it takes pluck To go out of the floor And proclaim 'What a bore' In a T-shirt that reads 'Disco Sucks' Yes, here he comes, the not-so-young Pretender to the throne He's singing 'Rag, Momma, Rag' Won't you give that poor dog a bone? And he's wondering why we can't connect When he's sworn to us that he's totally wrecked On the rustic charm that he affects On a public schoolboy whim With a raggle taggle plastic gypsy Robert Zimmerman With a synthesized accordion A-scramblin' up my brain With a fiddle-dee-dee A fiddle on high Excuse me folks while I kiss the sky Or at any rate give it one more try Before I die Before I die The overrated hit the stage Overpaid and over here And their idea on counter-culture's Momma's charge accounts at Sears And they're wondering why we can't connect With the ritual of the trashed guitar One more paltry empty gesture The ashes of a burned out star Yes here they come, both old and young A contact low or high The gathering of the tribes descending Vultures from a caustic sky The rotting carcass of July an ugly sun hung out to dry Your gorgeous hippy dreams are dying Your frazzled brains are putrefying Repackaged, sold and sanitized The devil's music exorcised You live, you die, you lie, you lie, you die Perpetuate the lie Just perpetuate the lie Yes yes yes it's the summer festival The truly detestableSummer festival - Edwin Collins
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