Hey Joel, Where You Going With That?

Cut down see saw
 Needs some new glare
 Take me to every one's there
 If I could write you a love poem, I would
 But the pope street poked me again
 So please leave me here
 So I can try
 To blow my baby's mind
 In the years of panic
 With the fears of herbage
 I've had it
 Please blow your horn
 Yellow sandwich submarine
 Makes me cry like a fly
 With a weasy spoon
 So sleep on the kitchen
 Hey Joel, where you going with that?
 Where you going, where you going?
 Oh, with that
 But the pope street poked me again
 Poked me again
 Pope street poked me again
 Oh, poked me again
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead, rock is dead
 Rock is dead