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I met him at a protest Dolled up in his finest finery A Malcolm X t-shirt And a tambourine To love him, it was hopeless The cannons fell and shook the barricade We came in at the chorus I could hear him say Eatin' that burger Pass the kitchen condime

The New York Times invents the news I did not see where they were going Behind the dying afternoon I follow, restlessly devoted Tell me your mind Tell me you'll always follow Send me a sign Send me a smile like Charo I need your lovin' eyes At least

I mean I must have said Please Lord, send me a hard-luck childhood Please Bub, spare me a hot romance Please lady, gift me with genius, not pleasure Please Mrs. Henry, start me off without a chance I must have said Please sir, let me lay in the sewer