• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• 1967 - Adrian Belew
• 1967 - Don McLean
• 1967 - Dayglo Abortions
• 1967 - Auteurs
• 1967 - Marcelo D2

Last night
I took a walk into the back of my mind
through the trash and the warning signs
there was a party full of jokes and clich's
I couldn't think of anything to say
and so I slipped into the men's room there
I saw my hair a way it's never been before
I took the stairs from my head to my heart
I didn't know they were so far apart
the heart is like a little chapel somewhere,
the pretty lights and the empty chairs
but I'm gonna bring a broom next time
I'll sweep out all the broken strings I find
She walks me down to my private train
and lays me down in my sleeping car
she keeps my elephant out of the rain
and sees to the care of my vintage cars
she is the blood of my life
without her I would starve
Who you gonna run to?
Who you gonna hide behind?
Who you gonna turn to
when there's nobody home but you?
What's a father to do
with all theses school-less injuns
running in circles around the wagons
What's a father to do
with all these monster debts
around my neck
on a sad sun deck
Oh, my children, the times are jaded
the simple life is complicated
oh, my children
Now if the dark of the night
arrives in the middle of the day
I'm gonna say my prayer
for sweetness and light,
gonna fix myself a Coke,
and hope it's alright
If the bat-winged beast sweep down
for a feast on me
I'm gonna pin my soul
to a hot-air balloon
gonna make it pop
and shoot me to the moon
Now you've had another piece of my mind,
a cup of coffee and a slice of time
if you'll excuse me I should say goodbye

In Nineteen Sixty Seven the draft caught up with me,
me and my pal Joe went off to war.
We might find hero's heaven, but we'd keep the country free.
We would surely win just like before.
Roy Rogers he was on his horse, and Buck Jones drew his gun.
We would surely win of course when the battle was all done.
Nineteen Sixty Seven I came back alone,
they brought Joe back in plastic on the plane.
Nineteen Sixty Seven seems so long ago,
but I can't forget my friend or ease my pain.
His family may forget him, his children may regret him,
his wife may find another and go on.
His picture may grow faded and the world he knew gone jaded
but as long as I shall live I surely know,
I never will forget my buddy Joe.
In Nineteen Sixty Seven, the war was raging on,
our country was divided and reborn.
Though I was back at home, I had never left Saigon,
'cause all I got was ridicule and scorn.
This was no place for hero's now, they all seemed to resent me,
They said "Why did you ever go?" I said "Because they sent me."
Nineteen Sixty Seven they buried my friend Joe,
and I was flashing back while people wept.
I thought of how he saved us and I watched the land-mine blow,
and I looked down at his dog-tag that I kept.
You'll always be a young man, you always will be smiling,
you always will be confident and true.
Your picture may grow faded and the world you knew gone jaded,
but as long as I shall live I surely know,
I never will forget my buddy Joe.
Long as I shall live I surely know,
I never will forget you buddy Joe.

It doesn't matter
I've got a library
I've got a swimmimg pool
I drive the Lamborghini
Dad drives the Cadillac
Mom's got an MG
I don't have a job
I don't go to school
I just sit at home
I don't have to worry
They have lots of money
They won't let me starve
In 1967 things weren't this good
My daddy was a hippie
Now he's a head of state
I don't have no peers
I don't know no queers
It doesn't bother me
I don't get in fights
When I go out at night
Coz my chauffeur is a killer
I don't have to look
When i want a fuck
I just spend some money
I get more allowance

In 1967
In 1967
The clock's ticking by, I'm thirty five
I think we should have a child soon
In 1967
No pop in our record collection
The Beatles and Stones mean nothing to us
I think we should count our blessings
In 1967
In 1967
My wife's expecting
A Surrey midwife delivers the child
I'll get a job in Yorkshire
In 1967
No pop in our record collection
No colour section
In our record collection
In 1967
No pop in our record collection
Some people have died, Some people have gone
Our Spring is in a cardboard box
Present time
I'll apologise to the nation
We are bedazzled, We're ordering cocktails
We act like peasants
1999
No pop in out record collection
Record on the radio station
It means nothing to us
I think we should count our blessing
Since 1967
In 1967
(The clocks ticking by, I'm thirty five)
In 1967
(The clocks ticking by, I'm thirty five)
In 1967
(The clocks ticking by, I'm thirty five)
In 1967

1967, o mundo começou
Pelo menos pra mim
E a minha história reduzida
É mais ou menos assim:
Nascido em São Cristóvão
Morador de Madureira
Desde pequeno acostumado a
subir ladeira
me lembro muito bem
dos meus tempos de moleque
que sempre passava as férias
no final do 77
Padre Miguel sempre 10 na bateria
saudoso Mestre André
sempre soube o que queria
futebol na rua F ou no campo de baixo
Você sabe
Meu tio gentil era um esculacho
Andava pelas ruas vestindo o meu bate bola
Se tu passasse em minha frente
Era melhor tu sair fora
Carnaval de rua perigoso e divertido
Mas passei por tudo isso
Entre mortos e feridos
Graças ao meu pai
O pessoal da tramela
Sérgio Cabrito meu padrinho
Não dava trégua
Lembra do Cassino Bangu
De vez em quando eu ia lá
Curtir um funk, ver a mulherada rebolar
Kool and the gang, gap band,
outro mestre, James Brown
Era só alegria
Não tinha pau
Eu quero ver
Se tu é homem mané
Do jeito que eu fui
E que eu sou
Eu quero ver
Se tu é homem mané
Que nem a parteira falou
No Andaraí, Grajaú o bicho pegava mais
Quando pichava muro
Sempre tinha um correndo atrás
Carlos Peixe, meu camarada
De vez em quando no piche
Outras na baforada
Vida de moleque sempre sangue bom
Calote no ônibus
Pra ir à praia no verão
Pra ficar um pouco mais
Roubava no supermercado
Pra mim isso nunca foi pecado
Sempre no Maraca vendo o Mengão jogar
Zico, Adílio, Júnior, fazendo a bola rolar
Como já dizia o hino, vou repetir pra você
Uma vez Flamengo
Flamengo até morrer
Meu avô Peixoto deixou meu sangue rubro-negro
Me orgulho de ser carioca
Me orgulho de ser brasileiro
skate na veia, só quem tem
sabe como é que é a sensação
e o poder de dar um ollie-air
Campo Grande, Norte Shopping
Street no Mec
À noite Circo Voador
Show do De Falla e um Domec
Vender Camisa na 13 de Maio
Na situação show no Garage
Skunk, diversão de irmão
Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaata
Planet Rock,
Rap, break, graffiti
Chegou o hip hop
Cantando a vida
Mas vista de um outro lado
Não é apologia cumpadi
Não adianta ficar bolado
Entenda se a minha rima
Não te faz rir
É som das ruas fluindo
Não adianta, sai daqui
Eu vim pra zoar
Fazer barulho
Falar um pouco de mulher
Skate, som, bagulho
Sempre ligado, sempre sabendo o que quer
Sempre bom da cabeça, nunca doente do pé
Eu vou levando a vida
É, juro que vou
Só no sapato, sempre sendo o que sou
Eu quero ver
Se tu é homem mané
Do jeito que eu fui
E que eu sou
Eu quero ver
Se tu é homem mané
Que nem a parteira falou
Agora saiu o flow
Brasileiro, Carioca
Marcelo D2 na área
Se derrubar, é pênalti
Valeu.