Been out in Northport, hung on her short shorts   Livin' with a bottle of wine   The music, ladies, and burned-out babies   I was trying to write a couple of lines      Sheriff Gribbs and his grim ad-lib   Spoutin' about the crime in the street   And women was screamin', and some was dreamin'   'Bout the crimes between the sheets      You know that music died, hurt my pride   But somehow I pulled through   Back in '72      Somehow we made it to Baton Rouge   We stayed inside for a week   We weren't in town for no Mardi Gras   So we decided to sleep      Houston, yes, was a good old guest   Lord knows how bad we wanted to play   But we got homesick for Lincoln Park, imagine   And man we just couldn't stay      Tricky Dick, he played it slick   Something I was afraid he'd do   Back in '72   Oh, '72      Then all our new born philosophers   Our windows for the word   Pessimistic, pseudo-intellectual   Avant-gardish pearls      Taking notes on the Holocaust   Then copyin' it down on your sleeve   It was so hip to be negative   So square to try and believe      When the warden's cleared, it was what we feared   We learned nothing new   Back in '72   Oh, '72