Is this world screwed up or what?
Tell me about it.
Nevertheless, there may be reason enough to find happiness,
contentment fulfillment and all that stuff
in the silver lining that highlights those dark clouds.
We baby boomers do have a choice, you know,
about whether to cry in our beer
or find cause enough to rejoice while
we’re here on planet earth.
Have a listen:
Boomers’ Choice:
Well, the boys came marching home from Germany and France
and the bomb had made a blast in in Hiroshima.
We were driving brand new cars; we were waving
stars and bars
and everywhere was another factory.
Back in 1953,
cruising with Dwight E.,
Elvis sang the whiteboy blues,
McCarthy looking under every bush.
In the home of the brave and the free
rolling on prosperity
and all the kids were going off to school.
Ten years down the road
another dream had come and gone
and the power of one gun had made itself known.
Back in 1964
big Lyndon opened the door
for civil rights and a bloody Asian war—
young men on porkchop hill
young women on the pill.
At home they said don’t kill;
get a psychedelic thrill.
But the dreams of a woodstock nation
were just an imagination
when the boys came trudging home in ’73.
So it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home
and its hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day:
the dreams of a woodstock nation
were just an imagination
when the boys came trudging home in ’73.
Well, it just don’t pay to sob;
guess I’ll get myself a job
selling leisure suits, maybe real estate.
I’m not moving very fast,
just waiting in line for gas
and Johnny Carson gives me all my news.
Back in 1976,
overcoming dirty tricks,
some were moving back to the sticks;
some were looking for a fix.
Ayatollahs on the rise
sulfur dioxide in the skies
and the system makes the man that’s got his own.
They say an elephant won’t forget;
let’s play another set.
There’s always another ghost on pac-man’s tail.
Don’t let this boom go stale.
Let’s find an airline for sale
or pop another tape in the VCR.
Back in 1989,
we’re living on borrowed time
getting lost in subtle sin
eating oat bran at the gym.
But there’s an empty place inside
and I was wondering why
these vanities don’t suit.
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
And it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home
and it’s hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day;
There’s an empty place inside and I was wondering why.
These vanities don’t suit;
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
Put on your Sarejevo, Mogadishu, Kalishnikov and Columbine shoes,
for the way is treacherous with ruts and rocks.
Yeah, we figured out digits out
before that Y2K could spoil our rout,
but that 9/11 call was in the cards.
Did you consider the question of heaven
before the wreck of ’07?
Will you hear the trumpet call
from the Ancient of Days.
Our way is littered with freaks and fads
from Baghdad through our mouse pads
as the reaper swings his steely scythe
across our wicked ways.
And it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home?
And it’s hie hie hey, seeking light of day.
It’s a dangerous place outside
and I was wondering why.
This world don’t give a hoot;
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
King of Soul
