pretty much describes my early adulthood

[Tinker [JU]]

Hey, lay me down some rails boys
don't put me in jail boys
and if I make a little noise
just leave me alone

I've been known to party some
but I anit never hurt noone
I've been ashamed of what I've done
especially when I'm stoned

I've spent most of my life in honest thinking
and I never cared too much for serious drinking
marijuana makes my eyes start blinking
and incense make my sinuses drain

So, lay me down some rails boys
don't put me in jail boys
and if I make a little noise
just leave me alone

I've been known to party some
but I anit never hurt noone
I've been ashamed of what I've done
especially when I'm stoned

Now women make me think of consolation
prison makes me think of isolation
******s made me vote for segregation
and cocaine makes me hard as a rock

So, lay me down some rails boys
don't put me in jail boys
and if I make a little noise
just leave me alone

I've been known to party some
but I anit never hurt noone
I've been ashamed of what I've done
especially when I'm stoned

Well it's hard to work for a dollar a week
and the Ku Klux Klan is bigger
so take the sheets of of your bed
and let's go hang a ******

And lay me down some rails boys
don't put me in jail boys
and if I make a little noise
just leave me alone

I've been known to party some
but I anit never hurt noone
I've been ashamed of what I've done
especially when I'm stoned

 

[Atl XJ [JU]]

Lolz at your sig pic.

 

[John in MA [JU]]

I'm too tired to look past my Jefferson Airplane catalog tonight, but I may have found one for Hub.

Lather was thirty years old today,
They took away all of his toys.
His mother sent newspaper clippings to him,
About his old friends who'd stopped being boys.
There was Harwitz E. Green, just turned thirty-three,
His leather chair waits at the bank.
And Seargent Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old,
Commanding his very own tank.
But Lather still finds it a nice thing to do,
To lie about nude in the sand,
Drawing pictures of mountains that look like bumps,
And thrashing the air with his hands.

But wait, oh Lather's productive you know,
He produces the finest of sound,
Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose,
Snorting the best licks in town,
But that's all over...

Lather was thirty years old today,
And Lather came foam from his tongue.
He looked at me eyes wide and plainly said,
Is it true that I'm no longer young?
And the children call him famous,
And the old men call him insane,
And sometimes he's so nameless,
That he hardly knows which game to play...
Which words to say...
And I should have told him, "No, you're not old."
And I should have let him go on...smiling...babywide.

(For anyone who hasn't heard this, it's a beautiful song by the way.)