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