So I Cut Off My Hair And

In The Home Of The Brave, Jefferson Turning Over In His Grave.

Because Dickens And Dostoyevsky And Woody Guthrie Were Telling Their Stories Much Better Than I Ever Could, I Decided To Stick To My Own Mind.

I Wouldn't Even Think Of Playing Music If I Was Born In These Times. I Wouldn't Even Listen To The Radio.

A Cork Screw To My Heart, Ever Since We've Been Apart.

I Make My Stand And Remain As I Am, And Bid Farewell And Not Give A Damn.