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Well, we took off like a sabre jet for Graceland one night. |
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Gonna raise The King; it'd be a hell of a fight. |
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To re-incarnate and re-animate his mortal remains. |
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What good is a king if he ain't go no brains? |
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As long as he can sing that song "Suspicious Minds" or the "Milkcow Blues Boogie" that would be just fine. |
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Well, we took off like a sabre jet for Tennessee. |
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Pulled up to Graceland; pulled out my skeleton key. |
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Gonna find out where he's burried; gonna dig him up, and throw his remains on the back of the truck. |
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Perform some kind of voodoo-type ritual thing, and sit back and laugh while we watch him sing. |
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Well, his bones came to life and they moved pretty well, |
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but the rest of him was scattered 'tween heaven and hell. |
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Then he fell to the ground in a pile of white dust, kind of pointing the direction of Las Vegas. |
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There was a smell in the air like leather and sweat, and we took off for Nevada like a sabre jet. |
