words by Terry Hall music by Arlo Guthrie
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Mom's just a throw-back
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To the sixties generation
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All that junk like peace and love
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Is just an aggravation
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Ain't got no use for transcendental meditation
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Mom, you're universal love is such a drag
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*Well Mom said Dad
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He might've been a Virgo
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Or a head shop owner
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Or two freaks from San Francisco
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A washed out surfer with his body golden tanned
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Or some lead singer in a psychedelic band
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Feeding me granola
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And other flakey stuff
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You told me meat was hostile
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But I just can't get enough
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Being vegetarian just ain't quite my scene
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There's only so much you can do with soy beans
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Mom, your universal love is such a drag
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Mom keeps telling me
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About her days at Woodstock
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Half a million space-balls
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And all of them with their feet stuck
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Freaking out on acid and what Bob Dylan says
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I think she's tryin' to turn me into Joan Baez
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Oh Mom can't you tell me where your head's at
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I'm sick to death of hearing about
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Where you saw the Grateful Deads at
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Oh Mom, don't you know this is the eighties?
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Oh Mom, can't you relate to what the date is?
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Mom's just a throw-back
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To the sixties generation
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All that junk like peace and love
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Is just an aggravation
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Ain't got no use for transcendental meditation
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Mom, your universal love is such a drag
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Oh Mom
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| Arlo Guthrie |
