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He's the old hippie that made us sick, He wrote muzak for drug addicts |
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He's the fat geezer who talked too much, He used drugs as a crutch |
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He ate granola and he hugged trees, Looked like a dog bit by fleas |
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Had a beer belly and a tye-dyed shirt, Said he'd live forever but now he sleeps in dirt |
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(Chorus) |
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{Jerry was a piece of shit, shit, shit, shit, shit |
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I'm Grateful that he's dead, dead, dead, dead, dead} |
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Like Jim Bakker he went far, Turned stadiums into singles bars |
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Did all of the drugs in San Francisco, Wrote 20 albums of long-haired disco |
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Then he sang I will survive, look who is no longer alive |
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So all you fuckers in your VW vans, Preppy dink hackysack clan |
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Wallstreet twats with ponytail hair, Your BMW's with dancing bears |
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He was an icon, he was a god, He racked in your cash in wads |
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You were conned by a useless slob, The tours are over so get a job |
