Friends of mine don't have the time For food or wine Just money is on their minds Life is sweet On a one-way street They're indiscrete And funny, they'll never meet B-bay-b-bay-b-bay-b-bay-bay-baby... I gotta get a two-ton truck I gotta get a two-ton truck I gotta get a two-ton truck I gotta get a two-ton truck I gotta do it to a duck on a two-ton truck and fade away like Ron Rene All right, all right You got the magical mystery tour You got the magical mystery tour You got the magical mystery tour You got the magical mystery tour And Kurt is the Walrus And Kurt is the Walrus And the Walrus does funny things to the veins in his left arm All right And Michael is now a father, all right And Michael is now a proud father, all right And my good friend Michael is now a proud father And Michael is now a father, all right And that means Michael's wife is a mother, all right Up the 13 steps of the gallows walked the condemned man And time passes very quickly when death is near After having completed the first step, the condemned man knew there were but 12 left Before he would meet death and his soul would leave his body And after having completed the 13 steps the condemned man was met by a giant cloaked figure And with a quick flick of the wrist the man was dead And his soul left his body and went down down down To a place we laughingly refer to as hell But none of us will ever go there because we're all far too groovy The man's body was left to rot on the gallows And a great multitude of black birds came and picked the man's corpse apart Piece by piece Limb by limb Until nothing remained And his blood melted into the ground below The gallows was made from a tree created by God The man's blood dripped into the ground which was created by God Even the giant cloaked figure which was the man's own end was created by God Even the man's soul which went down was created by God Even the black birds which picked the man's corpse apart were created by God AND WHERE WAS GOD? In Flanders Fields the poppies grow Between the crosses row on row To mark the dead To Flanders Fields the hippies go To smoke the poppies there below And feed their heads And they're all friends of mine, each and every one of them, no better or no worse And we'll probably end up down there together when it's all over And that's why we say B-bay-b-bay-b-bay-b-bay-b-baby ... It's all over and it's all right.