by Michael West I was born in 1947 North of hell and south of heaven About that time the sun went down On San Francisco, my home town I stuck my head out to see what’s cookin But it was dark I should have crawled back in Cause there I was by the Golden Gate Just about a hundred years too late For the great Gold Rush of ‘49 O my darling Clementine How time does fly – tempus fugitive – Like a jailbird, hounds on his tail I was raised up on the American Dream It was lily-white and toothpaste clean With TV sets and movie screens Subscriptions to Life magazine Then Life folded and God died They held the services on the cover of Time To the British Isles my daddy went Spying for our government And it was there in London town Saw em hang Old Glory upside down Shouting “Go home, Yank!” and “Ban the Bomb!” Years before I’d ever heard of Vietnam Back stateside on an ocean liner I found myself in North Carolina With the Devildogs of Camp LeJeune I felt like howling at the moon, you know Them jarheads say a service brat is lower Than whale shit on the ocean floor Yeah there’s more to this story as I know you’ve thought But this is just about as far as I’ve got Winter come around I’m gonna add a verse -- You know it can’t get too much worse… So stay tuned folks, you’ve got nothing to lose You’ve been listening to them Talking Disillusion Blues.
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