Of whatever kind of joy you called your own.
But if you had been around to see the fun
Well I don't know you might not like what you'd've seen;
The stools at the bar were damp with rye,
On the dancefloor the grass grew high,
Through the roof the moon was shining green
And the music really gave you some return on what you paid.
Hey Joe, play that old song they always played.