by Grace Slick      Owsley and Charlie, twins of the trade,   Come to the Poet's Room   Talking about the problems of the leaf,   And yes, it'll be back soon      There used to be tons of gold and green   Comin' up here from Mexico   A donde esta la planta, mi amigo, del sol?   [The translation is: "Where is the plant, my friend, of the sun."]      But Mexico is under the thumb   Of a man we call Richard   And he's come to call himself king   But he's a small-headed man   And he doesn't know a thing   About how to deal for you      How to deal for you   There are millions of you now   I mean it's not as if you were alone   There are brothers everywhere   Just waiting for a toke on that gold   And God knows how far it can go      But thanks Uncle Charlie   For your Mexican smoke   You're a legend Owsley   For your righteous dope      There were a half a million people on the lawn   And we sang to the faces in the dark   How long must that damn race   Wait for the jailer's time to end?   How long must the Panther race   Wait for the iron bars to bend?   And no no no no no nobody waits