In Hong Kong I was shanghaied into sci fi westerns
Typecast as the moon's fastest draw
I'd appear across the dunes like a late movie Arab
And, armed with harpoons, stalk the redmen who'd scalped my co pilot
A posse was formed to beef up my image
A priest was alerted as well
After smoking at least twenty six packs per picture
My tonsils increased in importance if not in the fan mags
I knew that I was destined to die in the outback
My agent stopped taking my calls
I looked my gift horsefly direct in the mouthpiece
And discovered alas that the message had been prerecorded
So I traded my Rolls for The Best of Bo Diddley
And got into Jean Shrimpton drag
Awash in a deluge of ‘sixties nostalgia
My tongue became tied, save for, Far heavy out, man, hey dig it