I did all my acid in grade 8 / That was the old days when acid had names / Flavors as it were / Windowpane, orange sunshine / But then things shifted / Acid stopped having names / And chips became flavored / That's progress? / I can remember a time when you could get orange sunshine, windowpane, or purple microdot / But the only chips you could get were plain / or in some stores / Rippled.

Cut to the chase / I did all my acid in grade 8 / I gobbled it right quick / I couldn't get enough of it / I did all my southern comfort in grade 9 / One bottle / Ooo, what a night / This is how Janis died? / What a sickly way to go / And kinda sweet, too, ya know?

Cut to the chase / I did all my acid in grade 8 / I did all my hash in grade 7 / Thought I was gonna say 10 didn't 'ya? Uh uh / The thing I hate about hash / Apart from the revolting taste / Was the way it made your eyes stare inside your tiny little body / Just sittin' there listenin' to Uriah Heep / A little of that goes a long way / Same as acid I guess you could say.

Cut to the chase / I did all my acid in grade 8 / It mighta got low for me / But I never did eat no vegetarian chili / It mighta got low for me / But I never did consume the Eastern philosophies / Which I used to think, you know, was Eastern Canada / Fisherman's philosophies / As in, "Ah, you'll see."

Cut to the chase / I loved all my love in High School / I gave all my love to those three separate, cruel, cool queens / Shelly Warwick / Susan Moriarty / Tammy Gorgenchuck / And now I walk around in a hashless, acidless, un-southern comfortable haze / And as I do / I think about my income tax / Hmmmm...

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