Last night I dreamt of you, Abbie Hoffman peddling your books. I gave five bucks to you, the other kids just gave you dirty looks. I said, "I'm sorry it didn't work out quite the way you planned".
I might have wound up in L.A. panning for gold. Found me a woman to warm up with when the water got cold. But I heard that there ain't no gold there. There's just line upon line of cocaine.