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The End of June, 1966 words and music by Bob MacKenzie I was born in six, sixty-six, and now I'm gone twenty-nine. Don't know where to go; don't know what to do. I know I feel like dying. My momma was a sweet hippie girl; and my daddy played in a band. They sang about freedom and about free love in every part of this land. And now a whole generation has died in our bodies and our souls; we've come to the end with no end in sight, and the drummer slowly rolls. six, sixty-six six, sixty-six six, sixty-six a black year to be born. We were never here in our parents' eyes and our children don't understand. God, how I wish I was born before and had joined that hippie band. six, sixty-six six, sixty-six six, sixty-six a black year to be born. I was born in six, sixty-six, and now I'm gone twenty-nine. A generation dead or out of its head; we've reached the end of our line. six, sixty-six six, sixty-six six, sixty-six a black year to be born. I was born in six, sixty-six, and now I'm gone twenty-nine. six, sixty-six six, sixty-six six, sixty-six a black year to be born. I was born in six, sixty-six, and now I'm gone. | ||
all songs are copyright © R. D. MacKenzie and his co-writers (SOCAN)
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