Brown shoes don't make it.

Brown shoes
Don't make it
Brown shoes
Don't make it
Quit school
Why fake it?
Brown shoes
Don't make it...
TV dinner by the pool
Watch your brother grow a beard
Got another year of school
You're okay--he's too weird
Be a plumber
He's a bummer
He's a bummer
Every summer
Be a loyal plastic robot for a world that doesn't care...
Smile at every ugly
Shine on your shoes & cut your hair
Be a joik
And go t' woik
Be a joik
And go t' woik
Be a joik
And go t' woik
Be a joik
And go t' woik
Do your job & do it right
Life's a ball
TV tonight...
Do you love it?
Do you hate it?
There it is...
The way you made it...
YARRRRRRRRRRRGH-H-H!
A world of secret hungers
Perverting the men who make your laws
Every desire is hidden away
In a drawer... in a desk
By a naugahyde chair
On a rug where they walk and drool
Past the girls in the office
Hratche-plche
Hratche-plche
Hratche-plche
Hratche-plche
We see in the back of the City Hall mind
The dream of a girl about thirteen
Off with her clothes and into a bed
Where she tickles his fancy all night lonnnnnnnnng
His wife's attending an orchid show
She squealed for a week to get him to go
But back in the bed, his teen-age queen
Is rocking & rolling & acting obscene
Baby baby
Hratche-plche
Hratche-plche
Baby baby
Hratche-plche
Hratche-plche
And he loves it! He loves it! It curls up his toes
She bites his fat neck and it lights up his nose
But he cannot be fooled, old City Hall Fred
She's nasty! She's nasty! She digs it in bed!
Do it again and do it some more
That does it by golly, it's nasty for sure
Nasty nasty nasty, nasty nasty nasty
(Only thirteen and she knows how to nasty...)
She's a dirty young mind
Corrupted, corroded
Well she's thirteen today
And I hear she gets loaded
P-pum-m-mum-m-mum-m-mum
P-pum-m-mum-m-mum-m-mum
P-bum
If she were my daughter, I'd...
What would you do daddy?
If she were my daughter, I'd...
What would you do daddy?
If she were my daughter, I'd...
What would you do daddy?
Smother my daughter in chocolate syrup
And strap her on again, oh baby!
Smother that girl in chocolate syrup
And strap her on again
She's a teen-age baby and she turns me on
I'd like to make her do a nasty on the White House lawn
Gonna smother that girl in chocolate syrup -
And boogie till the cows come home
Time to go home - Madge is on the phone
Gotta meet the Gurney's
And a dozen grey attorneys
TV dinner by the pool
I'm so glad I finished school
Life is such a ball
I run the world from City Hall!
Era il 1967 - l'anno della Summer of Love, del primo album dei Doors, del tripudio della psichedelia - e Frank con i suoi Mothers sparigliavano con questo capolavoro, che altri hanno già descritto con una competenza per me inarrivabile (un esempio al volo lo trovate qui). I motivi per cui ho intrapreso questa minidivulgativa cronologica sono due o tre: il primo è, come al solito, che ho nientedadire; il secondo è di carattere celebrativo - a dicembre ricorrono gli anniversari della morte e della nascita di Frank (pbuh); il terzo è per confortare la mia retrograda convinzione che il rock, al giorno d'oggi, abbia veramente poco di originale da esprimere. E me ne dispiaccio, ma sono aperto a suggerimenti, if any.