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(Or How I Was Robert McNamara'd into Submission)

I been Norman Mailered, Maxwell Taylored.
I been John O'Hara'd, McNamara'd.
I been Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind.
I been Ayn Randed, nearly branded
Communist, 'cause I'm left-handed.
That's the hand I use, well, never mind!

I been Phil Spectored, resurrected.
I been Lou Adlered, Barry Sadlered.
Well, I paid all the dues I want to pay.
And I learned the truth from Lenny Bruce,
And all my wealth won't buy me health,
So I smoke a pint of tea a day.

I knew a man, his brain was so small,
He couldn't think of nothing at all.
He's not the same as you and me.
He doesn't dig poetry. He's so unhip that
When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas,
Whoever he was.
The man ain't got no culture,
But it's alright, ma,
Everybody must get stoned.

I been Mick Jaggered, silver daggered.
Andy Warhol, won't you please come home?
I been mothered, fathered, aunt and uncled,
Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled.
I just discovered somebody's tapped my phone.

I lost my harmonica, Albert.



Lyrics taken from http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/s/simon_and_garfunkel/a_simple_desultory_philippic.html

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  • U
    UnregisteredJun 16, 2012 at 3:36 pm
    The song is about one's being brain-attacked until he (or she) is brain dead. That's the way we live and our reality ain't got no culture. Everything is pretty clear here.
  • U
    -1
    UnregisteredJan 29, 2014 at 6:21 am
    This being a heavy-handed parody of Bob Dylan's 'Bringing It All Back Home' album, it seems clear that Simon and Garfunkel were playing with the irreverent and surreal lyrical style and fuzzed-out, organ-drenched accompaniment to trivialize Bob's move away from 'protest' folk and into what folkies perceived as frivolous rock and roll. The name-dropping in verb form, like "Ayn Randed," (author of Atlas Shrugged) sounds as though It's supposed to be either self-evident or entirely meaningless. Such questions arose with regard to Dylan's mid-60's material by many in the politically-conscious folk music scene. These were further fueled by contradictory and sarcastic statements to the press such as "All my songs are protest songs" and "There's no real message," etc. The final lyric, "I lost my hamonica, Albert" refers to Albert Grossman, Bob Dylan's manager.

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