Sunday Morning Paper

Sunday Morning paper said Rock'n'Roll is surely dead Something hit me Deep down in my soul Lord I know It's just the Rock'n'Roll Never one time did I have a dream you wouldn't live forever Bet you never planned on getting old Look like you were born to loose Your slick back hair and your prison blues Mother tried to keep you from that road Lord I know It's just the Rock'n'Roll Well, you showed up from the underground Bakersfield to Tulsa town An inch away from needing crowd control Lord I know Oh Lord I know Women, wine and Benzodine Out to break the big machine Getting of the low-down for the truth Fighting at it fingernail and tooth Somewhere between ten and two Someone's wishing they were you Make a living of your highs and lows Lord I know It's just the Rock'n'Roll Never one time did I have a dream you wouldn't live forever Bet you never planned on getting old Banging on the baby grand Play that thing to beat the band Screaming out for everything you're worth Well, you dressed up like the greatest show on earth Sunday Morning paper said Rock'n'Roll is surely dead I don't think I'll ever let it go Even though It's just the Rock'n'Roll