Like to meet some of these idiots  Who put up the signs  Like to burn the fabric  Outta their inner lines  Sheet lightning going down through the pines  With your shocks out of line  You're out of your mind    Crossing traintacks on switchbacks  Through the lands of the living  Pepe's gotta brand new bars for his liquor store  The Fort Knox of oblivion  When you're driving through the city  Thank God for the sea  Somebody's got to draw a line somewhere,  And it might as well be Harry Belafonte    And now ain't the time to hit the station  Crowded with the ghosts of the Be Bop Nation  'Tranes of thought and times of tones  Sometimes a little wistful cigarette smoke blowing  The President blew so that Bird could live  And each along the wire could give  The sunglass vision and the golden clef  And the ghetto rod divine which notes are left    Oh brothers I'm talking I'm talking  He's got the solo on a wire  This calls for a flock of angels  To hover over the holy pyre  The President blew so that bird could live  And each along the wire could live  The sunglass vision and the golden clef  And the ghetto rod divines which notes are left.    Golden rain it's the piss of Zeus  Mixing with the dead yellow Swing insects juice  Caught in the windshield headlights and sluice  As you battle ahead on Truth  Sheet lightning going down through the pines  With your shocks out of line--you're out of your mind    Whispering in the plywood motel  Some crazy dish didn't turn out too well  Some dreamy argument--some delicious smell  Slow blizzards of petals coming at you in a storm  That's the way you make me feel--like warm.