John Lennon's Favorite Nightmare
Still as 'twas:
Twenty years ago, today.
The projects outside
(The ghetto streets of
The long and winding road
cuts through them,
Like an en route Hamburg train.
Lo! The WALRUS!
Lo! The Eggman!!
Lo! The wisdom, bowie-sharp,
And guiding you through... Golden years!
Lo! If it's true Paul was a walrus,
Who exactly then was Billy Shears?
Koo Koo, ah- CHOOO!!
True, VERA'S now a prostitute,
True, Chuck and Dave have both gone gay
(Note To Self- The flat they lease
Off Abbey Road,
Expires on the First of May.)
Does anybody know, or care,
About what's Beste for poor ole Pete?
An acid dip? An acid trip? A placid, flaccid acid sheet?
Poor bloke's opportunity's lost, drifting off,
Like butterflies to,
Like butterfiles fro,
Like Beatles, high, and Beatles... Low.
I read the news today, Oh, Boy!
Sigh... Don't bring me down.
He's looking glum,
And's looking down,
‘Cause all those holes in Albert's Hall
No longer utter any sound.
"WHAT'S the story," Asked morning glory.
"Of such the dramatic, long-faced dude?"
"Well, could YOU smile, amidst the fashion,
midst the style?
"If what should have been YOUR epic ode ended with:
Laaaaaaah, La La, La-La Laaah Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah,
Hey-ey Jude . . . . ."
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