Gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning comes.
Gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning comes.
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’, and we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Live a little, be a gypsy, get around, get around. Get your feet up off the ground, live a little, get around.
A bottle of red, a bottle of white, it all depends upon your appetite.
Once I thought my innocence was gone – now I know that happiness goes on.
If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal. I can call you Betty, and Betty, when you call me, you can call me Al.
Well, the night was falling as the desert world began to settle down. In the town they’re searching for us everywhere but we never will be found.
We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion-year-old carbon, and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.
Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.
You have no scars on your face and you cannot handle pressure.
You have to believe we are magic, nothing can stand in our way.
This summer I hear the drumming, four dead in Ohio.
You’re no good, baby you’re no good.
If you’re already standing, you might just remain so after listening to this one.
A bombshell of a singer songwriter album from 1968.
Master craftsmen at the art of the harmony and a soft rock-meets-folk rock vibe that would come to dominate the 1970s.