from this week in April, 1977 (I was 32)
This is 1977 and I’ve got detergent in the cranium
I’m not paying enough attention to my eye muscles
I don’t have any money
Vaseline in the pocketbook
Oil leaking out of my rear end.
Personal relationships are hesitant
I’m putting a brick in the toilet tank;
The neighbor is watering his lawn.
There must be someway to buy our way out of this drought;
Who do we have to pay?
Arabs? Cubans? Columbians?
Can’t we buy something from England or France
Besides that big plane?
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