The Rolling Stones

I will keep breaking cups until my left hand looks wrong Until my miracle drugs write the miracle song I will keep rolling down until my best shirt rolls off Until the conga line behind me is a thousand chickens long Like Brian Jones, I was born to swim Towards a month ago, towards The Rolling Stones Towards me and you, swimming alone And I will keep burning trash until the master comes around And I would pound my masterpiece down flat between my hands If it meant I could only roll again, you gotta let me roll down Like Hinckley's son, I was born to dance With a candy gun towards the president's ass Towards me and you Me and you Me and you I'm swimming alone Send me the basslines of the future My good sense doesn't win me any wars And crazy only let my brown hair all over the goddamn floor Lean over to me, baby, look over a little more And look over there Where I'm standing, where the police can see me And the pianos are landing on me and you Me and you Me and you And Brian Jones Me and you Me and you