You laugh at me
You say my taste's in my arse
You say I live in the past
Walking past Luna Park
The Big Dipper rattles over our heads now
I like that old sound
I like dirty scratched records, too
Incense for Jimi!
Whiskey for Janis!
Black Candles for Jim!
Watch me!
I'm feeding the gods
I'm feeding the gods
You laugh at me
You say my taste's in my arse
You say I live in the past
We walk past the cakes on Acland Street
And a curry singing karaoke country blues, well
"She's old enough to be your mother," you say
Well, I like her spunk, I like her truth
Incense for Jimi!
Whiskey for Janis!
Black Candles for Jim!
Watch me!
I'm feeding the gods
I'm feeding the gods
You laugh at me
You say my taste's in my arse
You say I live in the past
The sun's out just for me
And my ice-cream melts over your cigarettes
Incense for Jimi!
Whiskey for Janis!
And Black Candles for Jim!
Oh, they're lighting me up
They're lighting me up
Oh, not legends, not ghosts, oh babe
You could do with some of that dead
Dead hippie sound, and then you might join me
Where I live in the past, with my taste in my arse...
Whiskey for Janis!
And Black Candles for Jim!
Watch me!
I'm feeding the gods
I'm feeding the gods
I'm feeding the gods
You could do with some of that dead hippie sound
And then you might join me...
Taste in my arse...
They're not legends, they're not ghosts...
Your dead hippie sound...
And then you may join me...
