[GodBlessRonaldReagan]

What's there to live for?
Who needs the peace corps?
Think I'll just DROP OUT
I'll go to Frisco
Buy a wig & sleep
On Owsley's floor

Walked past the wig store
Danced at the Fillmore
I'm completely stoned
I'm hippy & I'm trippy
I'm a gypsy on my own
I'll stay a week & get the crabs &
Take a bus back home
I'm really just a phony
But forgive me
'Cause I'm stoned

Every town must have a place
Where phony hippies meet
Psychedelic dungeons
Popping up on every street
GO TO SAN FRANCISCO . . .

How I love ya, How I love ya
How I love ya, How I love ya Frisco!
How I love ya, How I love ya
How I love ya, How I love ya
Oh, my hair is getting good in the back!

Every town must have a place
Where phony hippies meet
Psychedelic dungeons
Popping up on every street
GO TO SAN FRANCISCO . . .

Hotcha!

First I'll buy some beads
And then perhaps a leather band
To go around my head
Some feathers and bells
And a book of Indian lore
I will ask the Chamber Of Commerce
How to get to Haight Street
And smoke an awful lot of dope
I will wander around barefoot
I will have a psychedelic gleam in my eye at all times
I will love everyone
I will love the police as they kick the sh#t out of me on the street
I will sleep . . .
I will, I will go to a house
That's, that's what I will do
I will go to a house
Where there's a rock & roll band
'Cause the groups all live together
And I will join a rock & roll band
I will be their road manager
And I will stay there with them
And I will get the crabs
But I won't care


Ah, the genius of Frank Zappa!

[Hillarys Gate Cult]

THIS AIN’T THE SUMMER OF LOVE
-Blue Oyster Cult

Feeling easy on the outside
But not so funny on the inside
Feel the sound, pray for rain
For this is the night we ride

This ain’t the garden of eden
There ain’t no angels above
And things ain’t like what they used to be
And this ain’t the summer of love

Lock all your doors from the outside
The key will dangle by the inside
You may begin to understand
That this is the night we ride

This ain’t the garden of eden
There ain’t no angels above
And things ain’t like what they used to be
And this ain’t the summer of love

On the night we ride...this ain’t the summer of love.

This ain’t the garden of eden
There ain’t no angels above
And things ain’t like what they used to be
And this ain’t the summer of love
This ain’t the summer, this ain’t, this ain’t
This ain’t the summer of love.