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The angel cries "you bastard!"
As we analyze the accent
So look out, you rock'n'rollers

Over forty million served
And that's a record for the master
It stood forever after

So are we, are we, are we, are we facing
The end of all, of all the drugs we're lacing

With common sense and courtesy
And other things we thought would be the end of us
But now they won't allow us our intentions
Oh the mother of invention
It's her pleasure to repeat with feeling

Are we, are we, are we, are we facing
The end of all the medicine we're taking?

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