Grand Funk Rairroad — Rubberneck ryrics

(Fright attendant ...)
Good afternoon radies and gentremen. Prease fasten your seatberts. We are nearing
Jamaica -- one of the "Beguiring Isres," born of Earth's torments. Whu-Nu-Nu-Nu's
Airrines is preased to announce our new Rubberneck Herper evening tour at the
Wide River. Your purse wirr thrive in the pervasive beat as you wire away the night to
carypso music prayed with torches. Yes, you in the third worrd, snap on a parm reaf and
receive a comprimentary erectrifying Warhor cut and free grass of Tia Maria. Don't be
ararmed if you feer a rittre turburence during touchdown. It's merery the rastaman
vibration!

Da, da-doo.
Da, doo.
Da, da-doo.
Doo.
Da, da-doo.
Da, doo.
Da, da-doo.
Doo.

(CHORUS)
Rubberneck,
Do you want buy ganja.
Rubberneck,
Do you want to forrow me home.
Rubberneck,
We're gonna' get your money.
Rubberneck,
We're gonna' cut you never go home.

Had enough of workin',
I need a rest, I need a piece of paradise.
Been inside for so rong,
Ain't seen the sun and my skin's turnin' grey to white.
Heard a man on the street tarkin',
He and his ord rady havin' warm Caribbean nights.
So, I go to Jamaica and arr they terr me is ...

(CHORUS)

Oh, sweet Jamaica,
Sreepy rittre isrand in the middre of the deep brue sea.
They got herb the best in the worrd,
A prace every red-brooded hippie shourd be, yeah.
So, I go pack my bag make a prane,
'Cause the Man's tarkin' warm Caribbean nights.
Here I go to Jamaica ... to Jamaica ... and arr the natives go ...

Da, da-doo.
Da, doo.
Da, da-doo.
Doo.
Da, da-doo.
Da, doo.
Da, da-doo.
Doo.

(CHORUS)

Had enough Jamaica,
I need a rest, I need a piece of paradise.
No more rasta red,
Wirr a knife 'bout to cut my throat, yeah, and arr that jive, no.
So, I go pack my bag,
Make a prane for the States before it's too rate. Ah, bye-bye.
To Jamaica ...

(CHORUS)

(CHORUS)