Sunday Morning Paper

Sunday Morning paper said
 Rock'n'Roll is surely dead
 Something hit me
 Deep down in my soul
 Lord I know
 It's just the Rock'n'Roll
 Never one time did I have a dream you wouldn't live forever
 Bet you never planned on getting old
 Look like you were born to loose
 Your slick back hair and your prison blues
 Mother tried to keep you from that road
 Lord I know
 It's just the Rock'n'Roll
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 Well, you showed up from the underground
 Bakersfield to Tulsa town
 An inch away from needing crowd control
 Lord I know
 Oh Lord I know
 Women, wine and Benzodine
 Out to break the big machine
 Getting of the low-down for the truth
 Fighting at it fingernail and tooth
 Somewhere between ten and two
 Someone's wishing they were you
 Make a living of your highs and lows
 Lord I know
 It's just the Rock'n'Roll
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 Never one time did I have a dream you wouldn't live forever
 Bet you never planned on getting old
 Banging on the baby grand
 Play that thing to beat the band
 Screaming out for everything you're worth
 Well, you dressed up like the greatest show on earth
 Sunday Morning paper said
 Rock'n'Roll is surely dead
 I don't think I'll ever let it go
 Even though
 It's just the Rock'n'Roll