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To the tune of: On Broadway (Cynthia Weil, Barry Mann, Jerry Leiber & Mike Stoller)
Some say there's U.F.O.s each night, at Roswell. (...at Roswell)
They glow with an unearthly light in flight.
They hover at amazing height.
But well before dawn they alight,
By day they're hidden out of sight, at Roswell.
They've got a Gray who crashed and died, at Roswell. (...at Roswell)
They took a scalpel, opened wide its hide.
The organs that were found inside,
They can't explain -- God knows they've tried.
They keep it in formaldehyde, at Roswell.
And just what makes the damn things go, at Roswell, (...at Roswell)
Is something Man has yet to know, (we're slow...)
But still they prod and poke, and so,
Some day a power cell might blow.
Then there'd nothing left to show, of Roswell.
They say no U.F.O.s arise, at Roswell, (...at Roswell)
But we are wise, and truth belies disguise.
With all the things Blue Book denies,
We'd rather just believe our eyes,
And no one buys those endless lies,
From Air Force guys in suits and ties,
About what flies the moonless skies,
Lyrics: Copyright 2006, Rich Brown (rmf53@FreeMars.org )
My filks are licensed under the Creative Commons attribution, non-commercial, share-alike License. If you use my stuff I would appreciate hearing about it.
Last rev: July 27, 2009 at 11:50 AM (a Monday)