I have a painter friend who says he actually slept with Jacqueline Kennedy...
Or was it John Kennedy? Maybe it was Jacqueline Bisset
At any rate I can tell I'm starting wrong. Let me begin again
There is a new breed of man. He's got a wife and some kids
He works behind a desk. Beside a computer
He watches a lot of television. Belongs to a health club
Drinks things like Cutty and 7 ... whatever that is
He wears faded Levis and Gucci loafers. His hair is long and perfectly groomed
He smoke the best marijuana. Wears a gold coke spoon in his pocket
And his speech is riddled with jargon like:
Far out, do your own thing, I hear you, Into it, blow my mind and freak.
You know, I'm a sports freak, I'm a jazz freak, I'm a video freak
He hates accident. Never question authority
Politicians don't debate, they transcendental meditate
Stockbrokers aren't in at ten, they're all strung out on heroin
Baseball players aren't so square, they've got beards and stringy hair
Car dealers don't just sell trains, they sometimes also deal cocaine
When he was younger and out struggling to climb the ladder
He used to fight with his wife or have a night out with the boys
And he'd maybe go to a bar and try to pick up some strange if you get my drift
And after a while he started hearing about free love, and he felt left out
And he tortured his imagination dreaming about pot parties
With those sun-tanned girls in halter tops with their cut-offs slit up to their belt loops
Then he saw a picture in Playboy of Ursula Andress on the arm of some hippy
And that did it. He began his rebellion late. But now he's got a designer camper
And one time he even got to sleep in it with one of those girls in the cut-offs
But it made me feel awful cause he had to pay her fifty dollars
And it was twenty for anybody else.
Here's the brave new world
In a mirror
20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90
Keep all the bad destroy all the good