'Cause I’m a dirty white boy
Yeah a dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Play that funky music white boy
Play that funky music right
Play that funky music white boy
We want the funk (we’re gonna turn this mother out)
Give up the funk
We need the funk (we’re gonna turn this mother out)
We gotta have that funk
Get the funk out ma face
You don’t like my music
You don’t have to use it
Funking is a thing
That all of us release
The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes,
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the night and the empty skies, my love.
Don’t ever ask me why
I never say goodbye to my love
It’s understood
You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello, hello
I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello
Hello, stranger
It seems so good to see you back again
How long has it been?
It seems like a mighty long time
Hello…its me
Who are you?
Who, who? Who, who?
Who are you?
Who, who? Who, who?
Who can it be knocking at my door?
Go 'way, don’t come 'round here no more.
Can’t you see that it’s late at night?
I’m very tired, and I’m not feeling right.
Knock knock knocking on heavens door…
Heaven on the 7th floor–
Hey baby!
Heaven on the 7th floor–
I ain’t complainin’…
All 7 and we’ll watch them fall
They stand in the way of love
And we will smoke them all
With an intellect and a savoir-faire
No one in the whole universe
Will ever compare
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
*and yes, it is a poem, but it was done with musical accomplishment in 1971-72, and made it to #8 on the Billboard Chart, so I claim it’s valid.
Take heart in the bedeepening gloom
That your dog is finally getting enough cheese.
And reflect that whatever fortune may be your lot,
It could only be worse in Milwaukee.
You are a fluke of the universe.
You have no right to be here.
And whether you can hear it or not,
The universe is laughing behind your back.
Now’s she’s gone and I’m to blame
Too late I finally see
What’s made Milwaukee famous
Has made a loser out of me
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care
It’s five o’clock somewhere.
Well, its eight o’clock in Boise, Idaho…
Night time on the City of New Orleans