Wild Wild Party
Come on it’s Labour day weekend, and I want to have some fun,
I rented rooms from twelve-nineteen through to twenty-one,
Forget your prohibition, ‘cos drinkin’ ain’t no sin,
Crank up that old Victrola, bring on the bathtub gin.
Fire up my brand new Pierce-Arrow, then head on down the coast,
Get to San Francisco, it’s the place I dig the most,
Met Bambina, Maude Delmont, Virginia, Lowell and Fred,
What happened next is blurry, but it left my career dead.
Well – wild wild party, original lost weekend,
Party dolls and bootleg booze, meet my lady friend,
I knew that girl was hurting, though I couldn’t tell you why,
But William Randolph Hurst says “ROSCOE’S GOTTA FRY!”
It’s time to call in the lawyers, to facilitate the truth,
The witnesses are shaking off a fog of dry Vermouth,
When the trials were over and my reputation clean,
Will Hays the lousy weasel had banned me from the screen.
I changed my career direction, my name was Will B. Goode,
I asked Hearst why he caned me, he said I’d misunderstood,
“‘Cos I don’t really care about the people I destroy,
It’s about selling papers an’ thats the real truth boy.”