70's Rock Must Die

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