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