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• Artiste: Roger McGuinn
• Titre: King Of The Hill
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L.A.'s asleep - you roll up your window The night air is cold - the freeway is clear. In a green Gucci bag - are you prized possessions The jewels of your mind - to hold back the fear. And when Monday comes round - there's a high lonesome sound And she follows you down for the kill. And a white blinding light - makes it all seem so right And you feel like the king of the hill. The driveway is long - your princess is lovely Your servants all wait - for your knock on the door. How many years - will you crawl through this castle So satisfied - and still wanting more. And when Monday comes... The guests have arrived - with all the right faces But you miss the ball - in that room down the hall. It's sunrise again - the driveway is empty The crystal is cracked - there's blood on the wall. And when Monday comes round...