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Old James Dean Monroe |
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Hands out flowers at the Shop-n-Go |
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Hopes for money |
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But all he gets is fear |
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And the wind blows up his coat |
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And this he scribbles on a purfume note: |
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'If I'm not here, then you're not here.' |
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And he says: |
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'Call me Miscreation, |
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I'm a walking celebration.' |
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And it's hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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My friend, oh lawdy |
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Went to take care of her own body |
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She got shot down in the road |
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She looked up before she went |
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Said, 'This isn't really what I meant.' |
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And the daily news said: |
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'Two with one stone.' |
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And I say, 'Hey there, Miscreation, |
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Bring a flower, time is wasting.' |
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And it's hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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We got loud guitars and big suspicions |
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Great big guns and small ambitions |
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We still argue over who is God |
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And I say, 'Hey there, Miscreation, |
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Bring a flower, time is wasting.' |
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I say, 'Hey there, Miscreation, |
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We all need a revelation.' |
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And it's hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
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Hard to make a stand |
