Now somewhere in a California desert, long ago,

There were these guys and they were tripping,

They were musicians, late for their show,

To them, the sun was purple and dripping.

Long-haired guys who wore leather on their legs,

Girls with no bras and circle’d sunglasses,

At parties with red cups and acid and kegs,

With their music, to the masses.

Rich and famous, they grew,

Fire, fire, light the closet on fire,

And kill the man you once knew,

You won’t care much until it’s dire.

Witch’s dances ‘round and blood rites,

Dark side of the hippies, no one’s happy forever,

But these guys, long-haired as they were, still had rights,

And shoot some Satanic rocker? The church could never!

1970 is here and time’s passing still,

The craze is beginning to set in,

Never underestimate the will

Of a man who can’t win.

Bassist and all,

These guys weren’t so jolly no more,

‘Cause vodka and drugs and all,

Jimmy wasn’t so jolly no more.