You don't need your
Name in bright lights
You're a rock star.
And some tin foil,
With a glass pipe,
Is your guitar, now yes it is!

Little Angela, suffers delusions, from these high times.
She's been cleaning, up since fourteen,
On the mainline. And her hunky, funky junky,
Of a boyfriend, got her on late nights,
With her skirt tight. Woa-hah she's a wild thing,
Oh-oh lettin' it all swing, God bless our high times...

Don't you know that last night,
Turned to daylight
And a minute became a day.
Last night, all my troubles,
Well they seemed so, so far away.
Oh I'm searching, my reflection,
For a glimpse of, another me.
I've got to get away from all these high times,
'Cuz these high times,
Are killing me.

This twisted, crystal kingdom,
Where you live your nine lives
And your head spins, with purple cyclones,
Made of dexydrine (gimme some of that)
And when the phone rings, you think bad things.
Well these are high-high-high-high times yeah,
In any back street, when you take a hot seat,
Make sure you check your flight times, woah now momma.