I’d like to hear some funky Dixieland, pretty mama, come and take me by the hand and play another somebody done somebody wrong song ‘cause he don’t love you like I love you. I learned the truth at 17: do the hustle. Why can’t we be friends, Angie baby? You’re a special lady, living in a world of make-believe through these wasted days and wasted nights, like Jackie Blue, makin’ wishes that never come true. It’s magic, you know – never believe it’s not so. She ran calling, “Wildfire!” sister golden hair surprise. So listen to what the man says; I got two strong arms and I can help. So dance with me, lady, when you’re with me I’m smiling. And since someone saved my life tonight, there’s no more bad blood.
You’re jive talkin’. But that’s the way I like it.
Are your blue eyes crying in the rain? Do you know where you’re goin’ to? Avoid the evil woman; there are fifty ways to leave your lover. These are your golden years, and you were born to run, so join the convoy. Why not check out some nights on broadway?
Hey, I write the songs… 
1975? Hmmm that was the year I was …
Thrown Thrown Thrown Thrown round by the wind.
Thrown Thrown Thrown Thrown down in a spin.
I’d walk this way, although my feelings about third rate romance are that I don’t like to sleep alone. I wouldn’t want to lose your love, 'cos tonite is a wonderful time to fall in love. Hey you, cut the cake with that slegehammer before you roll on down the highway to spend those nights on broadway with the young Americans. I’ve been saving all my love, playing solitaire all by myself, thinking about the way I want to touch you, and hey, when you’re up, you’re up. Only yesterday, I saw a rhinestone cowboy doing the Bertha Butt boogie with Harry Truman. Don’t leave me in the morning, because I only have eyes for you, and you are so beautiful. We gotta keep our love alive, because one of these nights we’ll go on a slow ride with Rosanne and the butter boy (she’s an evil woman and I can’t get it out of my head) from Boulder to Birmingham. We’ll get sky high in the Chevy van as we rock and roll all night down the autobahn to the ballroom blitz, unless the king of the kops asks me what the hell I got and says, “do you know where you’re going to?”
Shame, shame, shame, the games people play. They just can’t stop it! I asked my disco baby to do it again, but she said “don’t call us, we’ll call you.” It’s alright, Julie, I’m not in love. I was born to run, and I’m gonna take my squeeze box, load up the low rider, get misty on banapple gas, and hit the road, Jack, to find me some tush. It only takes a minute. You’re bloody well right, I haven’t been this restless since I was eighteen with a bullet. You oughta be havin’ fun anytime there’s a heatwave. Find yourself a boy, killer queen. Listen to what the man said! I may be Amie, I may be Rocky, I may be Mary Jane, but I’m not Lisa. Have a cigar, you sexy thing. What a difference a day makes!
I’m not in love, so don’t forget it. We just saw it from a different point of view
and were tangled up in blue. But you´re a shining star, no matter who you are.
Like a fish out of water with visions of the emerald beyond, the minstrel in the gallery waves his free hand across the Rubycon to another green world beneath the evening star, where the snow goose landed with bundles of cunning stunts. Though Ruth is stranger than Richard, the beginnings of Heaven and Hell hold no mystery for an indiscreet siren who may wish you were here in the U.S.A., where one size fits all. There’s still life at the Rotters’ Club: fish rising in praise of learning mark the initiation of bongo fury!