This letter is addressed to Mr. Pete Towsend
Hey Brother I write you to say thanks for nothin'
Your generation used up all the feelings
And if we rock it looks like were ripping you off
Hey Mr. Jimmy as I write upon this Paige
My hands they shake with a delicate rage
My amplifier has no aim for all it plays sounds derivative and mundane
Dig down, dig down the lost and found
The beetles used up all there was to be found
Dig down. Dig down the lost and found
Nothing green can gather on a rollong stone
Dig down - Dig on down
To whom it may concern for all Hendrix hath spurned
The rockets red glare the bombs bursting in air
My fender is just a painted board
And if I light it on fire I become such a fucking bore
Black Francis, Black Francis you are the last motherfucker out
Grabbing all the good stuff, leaving no doubt
That if rock and roll dies its not my fault
I do the best with the left overs that I got
Dig down, dig down the lost and found
The beetles used up all there was to be found
Dig down. Dig down the lost and found
Nothing green can gather on a rollong stone
Dig down - Dig on down
All of the juice has been sucked out
Before Mel Bay asked us children to play
So as we climb upon this rotting corpse
Stick it in once again, see if the blood will coarse
Chuck Berry, Chuck Berry you wrote the only original song
Some white boys stole it we all still sing along
Chuck Berry sing to us one more time
Before Fred Bisquit freezes everybody's mind