Mom's just a throw-back to the sixties generation All that junk like peace and love is just an aggravation Ain't got no use for transcendental meditation Mom, your universal love is such a drag
Well, Mom said, "Dad, he might've been a Virgo Or a head shop owner, or two freaks from San Francisco A washed out surfer with his body golden tanned Or some lead singer in a psychedelic band"
Feeding me granola and other flakey stuff You told me meat was hostile, but I just can't get enough Being vegetarian just ain't quite my scene There's only so much you can do with soy beans Mom, your universal love is such a drag
Mom keeps telling me about her days at Woodstock Half a million space-balls and all of them with their feet stuck Freaking out on acid and what Bob Dylan says I think she's tryin' to turn me into Joan Baez
Oh Mom, can't you tell me where your head's at? I'm sick to death of hearing about Where you saw the Grateful Deads at Oh Mom, don't you know this is the eighties? Oh Mom, can't you relate to what the date is?
Mom's just a throw-back to the sixties generation All that junk like peace and love is just an aggravation Ain't got no use for transcendental meditation Mom, your universal love is such a dragTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
