Seem's like there's a lot of cheap imitations out there Every cool dude has a different mood Each time you turn the musical page Another new face becomes the rage But me I only sing the blues Slide down a jazz swing and play my flute Every day another new gimmick Impersonators tryin' to mimic
Avoid the work, just wanna cruz Everyone wants to win, and no one wants to lose This sack of seeds I'm trying to lose Kokopelli haz the bluz
An esoteric factory went up the other day Using my symbol as their image, depicting a new age Intellectual copyright means nothing to these cats People like to take but they don't like to give back Out on the garden terrace I water my beans Somewhere far away selling on the market Some watered-down beans impersonated as the real thing Never had the pleasure of hearin' the real cat sing
There's a time to pay your dues, to sing the blues Come to a place to play your flute If you can't be someone else, you must be yourself
Everyone wants to engage the mother earth Waiting for a miraculous birth A Fry Bread Messiah, Quinn the Inuit Where's the Father's Son when you want to quit? Out there on the high road I play my notes Out there on the mesa I sow my oats It's not really that I wanted it that way The canyon lands are the playgrounds I play
Avoid the work, just wanna cruz Everyone wants to win, and no one wants to lose This sack of seeds I'm trying to lose Kokopelli haz the bluz __
Keith Secola: Lead Vocal, Flute Jimmy Vickers: Guitars, Backup Vocal Jim Creegan: Bass, Backup Vocal John Densmore: Drums