The All-American Acid Weekend
Legal considerations force me not to reveal the now-legendary suburban location where many weekends were spent eating, drinking, relaxing, camping on the lawn and making lots of music while in an expanded state of consciousness. Many wonderful people made these events all memorable, treasures I will cherish for the rest of my life. This song was Kate's anthem to the fine, wholesome American tradition of getting high on the farm. (If you recognize any names, it's a coincidence.)
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By KATE WORLEY ey Babe, you know what I’d like to do tonight? Let’s do a little something make us feel all right And call up the gang, and go out to Steve and Reen’s. We’ll play a little music, maybe drink a little wine, Look up at the stars and all get feeling fine And generally make ourselves a real good scene. CHORUS: You gotta get out of the city sometime Get out of your job and into your mind. Aren’t you glad you came? I know I am. With sparklers we can make it the Fourth of July. It’s as American as music and apple pie. Like eating home-baked bread, spread with cinammon jam. I get a little crazy from the magic all around I go dancing up the drive and here comes Steve dancing down To the boys who are boppin’ it out so sweet and clear. Sharon discovers the apple tree, she throws one for you And here’s one for me. We try to give one to the horse, but she won’t come near. (chorus) Incense orbits fly like comets, but no comet ever smelled that sweet. It’s no trouble, catch the moon in a bubble, Just bring it down and lay it at your feet. Richard is running his magic machine And he’s showing me colors like I’ve never seen He’s got the Universe dancing on the ceiling of the living room. There’s a bushel of apples lying next to my head, And Reen is baking pies to the Grateful Dead, Let’s be sure to do this again real soon. (chorus) Well, I learned that I could dance whenever I took the mood And why peanut M&M’s are the perfect food. It’s the best vacation I’ve had since I was ten. Lord, we all must be crazy, but boy, ain’t it great. Now it’s back to reality, but I can’t wait Until whenever it’s “whenever” again. You gotta get out of the city sometime Get out of your job and into your mind, Aren’t you glad you came? I know I am. With sparklers we can make it the Fourth of July. It’s as American as drugs and apple pie, Like eating home-baked bread, spread with cinnamon jam. © 1988 by Kate Worley |
