talking bout' that old time religion
in that spaceage bluesman voice
a tin teardrop
tells a story
of dropouts in disgrace
they make babies
boogieing like beelzebub
through bomb shelters and poppie fields
smiling at prostitutes and businessmen making deals
peaceniks that talk bout' politics and idolize the
old farts sinking in the swamp
their little eyes wide open
unfocused and electric
their main man is a mysterious old wizard
with an ashstray heart shaped like a antelopes gizzard
he shouts rhetoric,
rules for living
and casting spells
for creating heaven and abolishing hell
but the children of the revolution know all too well;
life's better in high society
than in a cell
but that don't drain them
of their endless complainin'
and nothing can stop the stop the sound
of the animal blues
that the madman is playin'
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