1963

I have the Beatles tattoed on my right buttocks cheek,
The Beach Boys 'cross my thighs.
AC/DC graces my elbows
and The Who, on the lids of my eyes.
Can it be, the ecstasy, of Nirvana, on my back?
Or is it just, Dolly Parton's bust, taking up the slack?
Otis Redding, is totally getting, tired on the dock.
And Ricky Martin sounds like fartin' from the New Kids On the Block.
The old Four Seasons have their reasons for partying dusk til' light.
They claim to be excited, and quite delighted, in fact; Oh! What a Night!
Chicago swings; their voices sing. United, their harmonies score.
The melodies number 25, or is it 6 to 4?
The 50's rocked around the clock.
The 60's smoked our heads.
The 70's gave us tiny tim. His two lips gave us dread.
The punk junk sorta stunk, the Vicious-ness of it all.
It's rebellious boys made lot's o' noise; and had themselves a ball.
The 80's ladies sang that disco; singing more, more, more.
The rap we now endure began then, and, damn! MY EARS ARE SORE!
The 90's grunge, tried to expunge, the music we all knew.
The groups brought with 'em an alternative rhythm and alternative lifestyles too.
Now, here we are, puters in cars, and satellite radio.
The times are a changin', our heads re-arrangin'. Now which way do we go?
Can we survive till 3005, our music future to be?
My wish is that, we could go back, to 1963.