I want to sit and play with the greats.
I want to see myself singing songs that scream my soul.
I want to write and make history in a studio.
I want to be successful, but satisfied, too.

I want to master the JOURNEY of music.
I don’t want to or care about being the best, because
Who cares if an album goes platinum and
It isn’t written by the REAL you, not
Some cracked corporate cunning conning conundrum
Cancer-causing cannibalistic contagious canary that sings songs
More plastic than the casing on a vinyl?

No, I don’t believe and won’t believe
In your censorship and your lies
Telling me that the public will hear it
If the truth is full of flies
Would God be glad if you wrote that down?
Would your parents get angry and sue?
But I wrote them from what was hiding
In a basement filthy stew.

No, I don’t believe and can’t believe
In red stained glasses on brick
But those bullets they flew that day
To a shattered mind they stick.
Should I carry on the journey now?
Is it a burden worth to hold?
But I’ve got to keep the people happy
Cause a Grammy’s worth just like gold

Yes, I do believe and should believe
In the power of a sound-filled disc
The power of a musical drug
With no added harmful risk.
You wouldn’t believe if I got up to say
That I’m living 1984
But look all around at the artists that sing
Without a chance knowing of more.

I want to be strong and careless.
I want to learn more about learning more of myself.
I would like to be a member of the Plastic Ono Band
But the dream is over, and new bands start today.