Like to meet some of these idiots    Who put up the signs    Like to burn the fabric    Outta their inner lines    Sheet lightning going down through the pines    With your shocks out of line    Your out of your mind       Crossing traintracks on switchbacks    Through the lands of the living    Pepe's gotta brand new bars for his liquor store    The Fort Knox of oblivion    When your driving through the city    Thanks god for the sea    Somebody's got to draw a line somewhere    And it might as well be Harry Belafonte       And now aint the time to hit the station    Crowded with the ghosts of the Be Bop Nation    'Tranes of thought and times of tones    Sometimes a little wistful cigarette smoke blowing    The President blew so that Bird could live    And each along the wire could give    The sunglass vision of the golden clef    And the ghetto rod divines which notes are left       Oh brothers I'm talking I'm talking    He's got the solo on a wire    This calls for a flock of angels    To hover over the holy pyre    The President blew so that Bird could live    And each along the wire could give    The sunglass vision of the golden clef    And the ghetto rod divines which notes are left       Golden rain its the piss of Zeus    Mixing with the dead yellow Swing incects juice    Caught in the windshield headlights and sluice    As you battle ahead on Truth    Sheet lightning going down through the pines    With your shocks out of line - Your out of your mind       Whispering in the plywood motel    Some crazy dish didnt turn out to well    Some dreamy argument - some delicious smell    Slow blizzards of petals coming at you in a storm    Thats the way you make me feel - Like warm