Been in Northport, hung on a short short
Livin' with a bottle of wine
With music ladies and burned out babies
I was tryin' to write a couple of lines

Sherriff Gribbs with his grim ad libs
Spoutin' about the crime in the street
And women were screamin' and some was dreamin'
'Bout the crimes between the sheets

You know that music died, hurt my pride
But somehow I pulled through, back in '72
Somehow we made it to Baton Rouge
We stayed inside for a week
We weren't in town for no Mardi Gras
So we decided to sleep
Houston, yes, was a good old guest
Lord knows how bad we wanted to play
But we got homesick for Lincoln Park, imagine
And man we just couldn't stay
Tricky Dick, he played it slick
Something I was afraid he'd do, back in '72

Then all our new born philosophers
Our windows for the world
Pessimistic psuedo-intellectual
Avant-garde-ish pearls
Takin' notes on the holocost
They're copying it down on their sleeve
It was so hip to be negative
So square to try and believe

When the waters cleared, it was what we feared
We learned nothin' new,
Back in '72