70's Rock Must Die-Lard

70's Rock Must Die - Lard I was cruisin' in a car Down Melrose Boulevard When I stopped all the traffic I was laughin' so hard Standin' on the corner Was this rock n roll dude In leather pants thinkin' he was cool He had the jacket He had the shades Farrah Fawcett hair Or was that a wig Face like a turtle Trying in vain to look stoned You could tell he'd been practicing At home in the mirror He'd probably been posing like that all day Didn't matter that is was a hundred degrees In the shade Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die Bogus bands, plastic rock stars Stupid clothes and the worst made cars Country rock making us all sick While John Travolta wags his double-knit prick Being a teen back than Man, it was a drag Bicentennial and no one burned the flag You think we live in pretty desperate times When people wanna go back to nineteen seventy five My Saturday Night Fever fantasy Lock the Bee Gees in a Pinto And ram it from the rear Burn, baby Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die Suck my ego, pay to play Got nothing more to say As we sell you a stairway to boredom Look around at the hip people Set in their ways Reaching back to the things they used to say they hate Young old brats playing fossil rock Pistols reunions pass for rebellion Radio and TV gettin' to damn bland With collegiate boy Neil Young copy bands Underground's becoming an alternative joke Even Aerosmith hates all the Aerosmith clones I know they don't make 'em like the Son of Sam But even punks wanna go back to seventy seven Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die Well c'mawn, well c'mawn Seventies rock must die