A Simple Desultory Philippic (How I Was Lyndon Johnsoned Into Submission) Words & music bu Paul Simon 1965 | | | I was Union Jacked, Kerouac'd | | John Birched, stopped and searched | | | Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind | | | I've been Ayn Randed, nearly branded | | Communist 'cos I'm lefthanded: | | | | | | | That's the hand they use, well, never mind! | | | I've been Walt Disneyed, Dis Disleyed | | John Lennoned, Krishna Menoned | | | Walter Brennan punched out Cassius Clay | | I've heard the truth from Lenny Bruce | | | and all my wealth won't buy me health | | | | | | | So I smoke a pint of tea a day | | I knew a man his brain so small, | | | He couldn't think of nothin' at all. | He's not the same as you and me. | | | He doesn't dig poetry. He's so unhip that | | | | When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talkin' about Dylan Thomas, | Whoever he is. | | | The man ain't got no culture, | | But its alright, Ma, | | | | It's just sumpthin' I learned over in England. | | | I've been James Joyced, Rolls Royced | | Mick Jaggered, silver daggered | | | Andy Warhol won't you please come home? | | | I've been mother, fathered, aunt and uncled | | Tom Wilsoned, Art Garfunkled | | | | | Barry Kornfeld's mother's on the phone | | When in London, do as I do | | Find yourself a friendly haiku | | | Go to sleep for ten or fifteen years