At 62, I Remain Clean And Sober

I'm Stoned On My Music. I'm Intoxicated By My Joyful Calendar Between The Tours, And The Hunting, And The Charity Work, And The Family Time, And Just My Lifestyle Living On A Ranch In Texas And Back When I Lived On My Ranch In Michigan. It's The Epitome Of Individual Independence, Self-sufficiency, Hands-on, Earthly Celebration And We Tour Every Summer Like Complete Animals.

I Know We Just Met Today, But I Gotta See You Tomorrow. I Know This Is Our First Date, I Don't Expect You To Swallow.

You Mean To Say That When An Imbecile Walks Into A Church, Office, Day Care Center, Or School, Stumbling About, Almost Zombie-like, With Gun-filled Hands At His Side, Blabbering Incoherently To His Next Victim, The Reaction Of Grown Men And Women Is To Run, Cry, Whimper, And Hide Under A Desk Or Pew? The Sheeping Of America Is Nearly Complete.

I'd Like To Have James Brown As My Singer. I Already Have The Best Drummer, Tommy Clufetos. I've Jammed A Bunch With John Entwistle, And It Was Like A Musical Orgy. That Guy Is A Living, Breathing, Grunting Rhythm. For Horns, Let's Go With The Stax/volt Guys, And I'm Going To Have Steve Cropper On Standby Just In Case I Want A Rhythm Guitarist.

Like All Other Law-abiding Americans, I Fully Support Legal Immigration.