The Rolling Stones

I will keep breaking cups until my left hand looks wrong
Until my miracle drugs write the miracle song
I will keep rolling down until my best shirt rolls off
Until the conga line behind me is a thousand chickens long

Like Brian Jones
I was born to swim towards a month ago
Towards the Rolling Stones
Towards me and you
Swimming alone

And I will keep burning trash until the master comes around
And I would pound my masterpiece down flat between my hands
If it meant I could only roll again
You gotta let me roll down

Like Hinckley’s son
I was born to dance with a candy gun
Towards the president’s ass
Towards me and you
Me and you
Me and you
I'm swimming alone

Send me the basslines of the future
My good sense doesn't win me any wars
And crazy only left my brain here all over the goddamn floor
Clean over all me baby
Look over a little more
Look over there