Other Day (Near Santa Cruz)

                                  I met a guy the other day he said he had it all figured out

He claimed he was ecstatic and he proved it with a shout

"I like hippie chicks," he said, "they're not so damn dumb

They don't sing like Ethel Merman, they don't imitate nuns



"They comb their hair with porcupines and loofah their feet

And they become indignant when you threaten them with meat

Their windows grin like pumpkins filled with candles and beads

Their beds are all futonic and there's babies on their knees."

"But my mother wears a hat," he said, "extruded from a tank

And my sister reads good housekeeping and worships at the bank

My grandma loves Pat Robertson says he's it that's that

And my wife says I'm a lunatic but hippie chicks are where it's at."



He told me this while revving up his brand new pick up truck

He wore a leather hat and shades above a 12-pack gut

"I know where they got hippie chicks, they're all in Santa Cruz"

Then he jammed a tape in his Blaupunkt and drove off born to lose



Cause although he got the message he was deaf to the news

There are no chicks in Santa Cruz