Do your own thing was the cry of the year
Sixty nine was the season of pills and of beer
Flowers and free love was the strong rebel yell
Where it would end only time that could tell
A maverick a loaner that no one could bind
A free-loading spirit on a trip of the mind
But in seeking to close the mysterious loop
They all ended up, right back there in a group
The hair and the tales, well they let them grow long
Then pick up a guitar and put it in song
The mind will expand with the right kind of pill
And that Volkswagen bus that is broken down still
They get the last laugh, this peace loving group
Cause they now have our country in a pile of poop
Their bus is a Prius and their hair is cut short
A job in the city of government sort
You still can find them, camped on the lawn
Surrounded by Whitehouse and media fawn
Oh what we would give for them back in San Fran
Back at Haight Ashbury with their bus and their van
So it’s not in the park where the smell is so bad
The long halls of congress…is the hippie’s new pad
David Kettler, 3/31/09
This poem became instantly one of my favorites! It went together real smoothly and allowed me to pour all my political frustrations into print. I’m a real expert on hippies seeing I was eight years old in sixty nine! Anyway, after I scratched this on a pad at five in the morning, I went to work and all day was anxious to come home and put it in print because I knew it was pretty good. It’s kind of funny but I could not of told you two or three lines at work by memory. It’s like I enjoy it for the first time when I pull out my notebook and read what I wrote just twelve hours before.
Sixty nine was the season of pills and of beer
Flowers and free love was the strong rebel yell
Where it would end only time that could tell
A maverick a loaner that no one could bind
A free-loading spirit on a trip of the mind
But in seeking to close the mysterious loop
They all ended up, right back there in a group
The hair and the tales, well they let them grow long
Then pick up a guitar and put it in song
The mind will expand with the right kind of pill
And that Volkswagen bus that is broken down still
They get the last laugh, this peace loving group
Cause they now have our country in a pile of poop
Their bus is a Prius and their hair is cut short
A job in the city of government sort
You still can find them, camped on the lawn
Surrounded by Whitehouse and media fawn
Oh what we would give for them back in San Fran
Back at Haight Ashbury with their bus and their van
So it’s not in the park where the smell is so bad
The long halls of congress…is the hippie’s new pad
David Kettler, 3/31/09
This poem became instantly one of my favorites! It went together real smoothly and allowed me to pour all my political frustrations into print. I’m a real expert on hippies seeing I was eight years old in sixty nine! Anyway, after I scratched this on a pad at five in the morning, I went to work and all day was anxious to come home and put it in print because I knew it was pretty good. It’s kind of funny but I could not of told you two or three lines at work by memory. It’s like I enjoy it for the first time when I pull out my notebook and read what I wrote just twelve hours before.
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