Текст песни Sunday Morning Paper - Turnpike Troubadours

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,

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 fingernails 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,

Never one time did I have a dream you wouldn't live forever,
Bet you never planned on getting old,
Banging on the babygram,
Play that thing to beat the band,
Screaming out for everything you're worth,
Well you dressed up as 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 tho,
It's just the Rock'n'Roll,