It was Fantazia and the Grateful Dead
That weekend in Atlanta
Mickey and Jerry blending
Mescaline harmony and childish laughter
(riding that train, high on cocaine)
Marching mops and overflowing buckets
Amid clashing cymbals and Disney’s mind
Running wild through the Atlanta underground
(Casey Jones is ready, watch your speed)
Making love in a yellow Volkswagon
In an alley behind the Regency
Standing against a tree in the woods
Rain and kisses on my upturned face
And twice in your mother’s bathroom
Waiting for the coffee to perk, Folgers
(trouble ahead, trouble behind)
Drugs and youth blending with Jerry,
Mickey and Boones Farm, smoking
What we couldn’t eat or drink
Selling what we didn’t need
To get what we did, your guitar
And my recorder, for a pound
Of Panama Red, thumbing across the states
Searching for tornados and storms
To satisfy our need for thunder
Four days of drugs, sex and rock n roll
Rain and hail pounding unwashed bodies
Cleansing our souls and minds
Of the need for more, collapsing finally
In a rundown Memphis hotel
Sleeping for days, spent and replete
While dreaming of Mickey, Jerry
And the Atlanta underground
(don’t you know that notion
just crossed my mind)