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