"Ah....honey, you want to get me a cognac? Huh?"
Well, now, there's this hippie
Standing on a corner counting
little girls and guttered cans
And he thinks he can hold back
tomorrow with the pool cue in his hands.
He's watching the plastic women dancing
With the cool and porcelain boys
And he wonders where the sixties are,
Why the music's only noise.
This boy's thirty-two tomorrow.
And he's scared to death.
Cause the gray
That's sneaking past his temples
Leaves him slightly short of breath.
Then there's Nancy ....
Just a kid from Boston,
Sixteen summer's worth of tan.
Her boy friend goes to sleep nights groaning
Wishing things would go as planned.
She's playing on the streets of New York City,
And skin tight jeans.
She's proud of the heads that are turning ...
Yesterday is just a dream.
Oh the music's got
A certain fascination,
A beat she doesn't understand.
But her hips are moving to the rhythm
Of the drummer in the band.
Now they're living at the porno movie.
He writes songs and plays guitar ...
She dances ...
To the rhythms of the sixties
And they laugh at who they are ...
They sing on the streets of New York City.
People come by and stare.
They throw dimes and quarters
into passing hats,
They dream of standing there ...
Her daddy hopes
It's just a passing fancy.
His mother merely shakes her head and cries
And the drummers are playing for the smiling faces
Of all the young girls getting high.