(C.W. McCall, Bill Fries, Chip Davis)
Now Arnold Jones an' MaryBeth Jensen's in a 'Vette down by the Deep Rock
Had John Denver on the 8-track, gettin' high
MaryBeth's wig was on the floor
An' Arnold's feet was out the door
When we shined our flashlight in Arnold's startled eyes
I says "What chew doin' boy?
Don't chew know that's against the law?
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
Now my name is Fairweather Lewis an' this here's Willard Clark
We the Pottawattamie County Love Patrol."
Then two hippies in a Chevy's puffin' grass an' sippin' wine
'Bout fourteen mile south-east a' Council Bluffs
They's passin' 'round the peace-pipe
When we caught 'em with our flashlight
An' Willard's hairy hands applied the cuffs.
I says, "Boys you got some trouble
You committin' herb-i-cide.
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
'Cause I'm Fairweather Lewis, an' this here's Willard Clark
We the Pottawattamie County Weed Patrol."
Then we spied ol' Marvin Kline a-headin' south on twenty-nine
Like a midnight auto ac-cessory store on wheels
His trunk was full a' hub caps
An' his back seat full a' tires
When we picked him up and made him spread his heels
I says, "Hands up-on the wall, boy
You allowed t' make one call
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
Cause, see, I'm Fairweather Lewis, an' this here's Willard Clark
We the Pottawattamie County Rip-off Patrol."
Then Orval Hinkle left the Go-Go Club on his brand-new motor-sickle
Runnin' stop-lights, raisin' hell an' causin' accidents
His brain was doin' wheelies
An' his blood was three-two beer
When we nailed him in his driveway at his residence
I says, "Orval, you're in trouble boy
But if you'll blow this here balloon up
We gonna get your situation under control
Now I'm Captain Fairweather Lewis an' this here's Willard ClarkHere
Upon these ghostly shadows
Of men and women
There are no smiles
Singly
They mingle
With the greyness of the walls
And at strange angels
They travel on
To nowhere
Each a nucleus
Of sadness and despair
Small
Or no conversation
Passes their cigarette-stained lips
They sit
The lonely ones
Sitting eternally
In institutions
That have become their eyes
That have become their arms
Their legs
They are empty now
Just shells moving back and forth
Upon a shore
Of some uncharted beach
Up steep green hills
They linger
Like the darknest thoughts
That push them selves
Into your mind
You cannot question them
For they will not answer you
They
Are our deepest fears