words by Terry 
Hall music by 
Arlo Guthrie 
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, you're 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 drag