Surfing on an Atomic Bomb
While surfing on an atomic bomb
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| "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)" by twm1340 is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0. |
Dad sipped
gasoline in a honking line,
With waves of heat several blocks long,
Tempers soared, but we kids were fine;
Hell! We were promised flying cars
Despite Martians eating our guitars.
Prom queens with feathers took flight
As we soared to the highest volume,
In a world decreasingly black and white
And a color TV in every living room,
But we totally knew who our enemy was
As we fought the political Santa Claus.
While Mother Russia ate her own
And answered to our Olympic boycott
We fought to avoid a bogus chaperone
To drive Route 66 for the best snapshot;
For we had dreams of skipping midterms,
Then felt like a truck stop meal for worms.
We dropped F-bombs in detention,
A fragile club for the misfit elite;
We danced to beat out any tension,
For our music would never be obsolete;
These waves pounded the golden beach
Like we always had something to teach.
For the holes in our jeans were natural
And the mousse a permanent fixture;
Like the endless Cold War was surreal,
Games played on the almighty computer;
But at least M*A*S*H was on syndication
As history became a comedic distraction.
We need a convertible Bug on half-throttle
And not another colorful flag unfurled!
Drop these singular words in a bottle
Because one second can change the world;
But hell! We still inhale repeat sitcoms
While surfing on our atomic bombs!
~
With waves of heat several blocks long,
Tempers soared, but we kids were fine;
Hell! We were promised flying cars
Despite Martians eating our guitars.
Prom queens with feathers took flight
As we soared to the highest volume,
In a world decreasingly black and white
And a color TV in every living room,
But we totally knew who our enemy was
As we fought the political Santa Claus.
While Mother Russia ate her own
And answered to our Olympic boycott
We fought to avoid a bogus chaperone
To drive Route 66 for the best snapshot;
For we had dreams of skipping midterms,
Then felt like a truck stop meal for worms.
We dropped F-bombs in detention,
A fragile club for the misfit elite;
We danced to beat out any tension,
For our music would never be obsolete;
These waves pounded the golden beach
Like we always had something to teach.
For the holes in our jeans were natural
And the mousse a permanent fixture;
Like the endless Cold War was surreal,
Games played on the almighty computer;
But at least M*A*S*H was on syndication
As history became a comedic distraction.
We need a convertible Bug on half-throttle
And not another colorful flag unfurled!
Drop these singular words in a bottle
Because one second can change the world;
But hell! We still inhale repeat sitcoms
While surfing on our atomic bombs!
~
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