Lyrics:

by Grace Slick



Owsley and Charlie, twins of the trade,

Come to the Poet's Room

Talking about the problems of the leaf,

And yes, it'll be back soon



There used to be tons of gold and green

Comin' up here from Mexico

A donde esta la planta, mi amigo, del sol?

[The translation is: 'Where is the plant, my friend, of the sun.']



But Mexico is under the thumb

Of a man we call Richard

And he's come to call himself king

But he's a small-headed man

And he doesn't know a thing

About how to deal for you



How to deal for you

There are millions of you now

I mean it's not as if you were alone

There are brothers everywhere

Just waiting for a toke on that gold

And God knows how far it can go



But thanks Uncle Charlie

For your Mexican smoke

You're a legend Owsley

For your righteous dope



There were a half a million people on the lawn

And we sang to the faces in the dark

How long must that damn race

Wait for the jailer's time to end?

How long must the Panther race

Wait for the iron bars to bend?

And no no no no no nobody waits