Westerly wind Making her way out east Give me a kiss I am a tumbleweed Tumbleweed Tumbleweed Nowhere to go, nowhere to be Tumbleweed Tumble to me Lighting a match Under the Joshua tree Roll up the grass I am a tumbleweed (A little tumbleweed) Tumbleweed Tumbleweed Nowhere to go, nowhere to be Tumbleweed Tumble to me

Why do you think they call it dope? Nighttime, shooting star, the sun started to rain Trees lost branches, gurus' trances, black-brassiered dancers Little dears Showdown's coming, it's no joke, mouth is running, it's a stroke That's what I think when I'm so fucked up I can't even find the door Why do you think they call it dope? Why do you think they call it dope? When your heart beats fast, you're so broke, in your car with the red Lights flashing Look sincere, smell like beer, roach in the ashtray Going to the pokey Thirty days later, ten bucks left, hands are shaking Looking for a dime bag Why do you think they call it dope? Why do you think they call it dope? Dirty little dopers on dope so bad Dirty little dopers on dope so bad When two and two turn into five you'll probably see it my way When bad is good, like it should, things turn upside down Some people say it's hip to say no, my town it's green light go For party rockin' angels now it's trigger happy Slang-bang-pow Why do you think they call it dope? Why do you think they call it dope? Why do you think they call it dope? Why do you think they call it dope?

I got my wine Get out of my way Got a chip on my shoulder Had a real bad day Met a little girl Just thirteen She's a knock-down blue-eyed slut psycho-virgin tease Rock Queen, thirteen, buxom blonde, bad dream Let me touch your cookies--let me eat your cookies--now Got some time Won't go wrong Sittin' on the sidewalk Singing songs Take my baby home On the scene Turns out she's a koochie-koochie-koochie Rock queen, thirteen, buxom blonde, bad dream Let me touch your cookies--let me eat your cookies Rock queen, thirteen, buxom blonde, bad dream Let me touch your cookies--let me eat your cookies--now

Smash bam bif boom crack Party still goin' six in the mornin' Jim Beam, Courvoisier and Jack We're goin' down I need some fuel I need some fuel I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run Yo Zeke stop! At the liquor store We want some more I'd like to introduce you to my fifth That's who I'm with I need some fuel I need some fuel I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run I'm free to exercise my downward mobility I'm free to exercise my downward mobility My downward mobility I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run I need some fuel to run

Mama's in the kitchen Papa's on the porch Junior's downstairs in the basement Passin' on freedom's torch They're busy fighting Fillin' all the jails But sure as the sun do shine in the mornin'-- There's drugs on sale They're getting wasted Wasted They're getting wasted Wasted in America Something's gone wrong with the TV generation I am the product of that situation So you say you're feelin' Pinhead frustration C'mon join the nation They're getting wasted Wasted They're getting wasted Wasted in America Don't ask me why things are the way they are They just are I don't know why People are so curious They wanna chase it They wanna taste it They wanna get wasted They're getting wasted Wasted They're getting wasted Wasted in America They're getting wasted in New Jersey Wasted in Illinois Wasted in California And the Texans say "You 'all" Wasted in America They're getting wasted in America They're getting wasted in America

Throbbing pulsating gyrating hyperventilating 'Til we pass out on the floor Met a little girl with no bloomers on When she showed me her fake i.d. i knew something was wrong She said let's dance Said i got a wooden leg Said i'd like to see you on your knees She's cuddly wuddly wuddly too She's cuddly wuddly wuddly got a hold on you Yeah you got a reputation for coming on strong Now you're leanin' up against my dang-a-lang-a-lang-a-lang Here we go to your bungalow Boyfriend's on the road Put the spit on Put the spit on Get a little nervous What can a poor boy say 'Bout a girl that fucks a different guy each and every day But she's cuddly wuddly wuddly Too bad You don't dig dudes that play guitar You got a thing for drummers You got a thing for men with scars Put the spit on Put the spit on Put the spit on Throbbing pulsating gyrating hyperventilating 'til we pass out On the floor Put the spit on Put the spit on Put the spit on Put the spit on Put the spit on Put the spit on