So now you’re folkified Fucked up on your Dylan side A puffed up head you’ll try to hide You write some poems on the side
So head out east and change your name Shave your head, they’re all the same Zimmerman, Hewson, Mellencamp’s a loaded gun
Don’t turn around, I’ll let you down No do look too close ‘cause you don’t want to see it But it’s blowin’ in the wind, down on Maggie’s farm Where it’s raining on some scarecrow sittin’ in the yard Of a little pink house, owned by Jack and Dianne.
So now you’re countrified, rocked up your hillbilly side Fucked up in you doublewide, sippin’ PBR’s outside But all them roots are ill begotten Drunken cowboys soon forgotten Washed out on the bedroom eyes Of alt-country boys that been glamorized
Don’t turn around, I’ll let you down No don’t look too close ‘cause you don’t want to see it That there’s really no depression down in New Madrid So let that wind take your troubles away Doreen Doreen, Sweet Caroline, Rain Squall Just take a lot of pills, take a lot of pills Take a lot of pills and die.