| I found a picture of my mother
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| In her bell-bottom jeans
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| Flowers in her hair
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| Two fingers up for peace
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| In that Polaroid she smiled, a grown up baby boomer
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| Maybe mama walked down the wild side
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| Walking on the moon
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| What will they say about us?
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| I’ve heard stories about my grandpa
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| Child of the Great Depression
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| How growing up broke creates
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| And deep and dark impression
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| He sits in a rocker down at the veterans’home
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| Even when I got to visit
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| He still rocking all alone
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| What will they say about us?
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| They call us generation lost
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| Or generation greed
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| Or the connected generation
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| To a plasma screen
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| Or a generation why
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| Enough is not enough
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| Or maybe they’ll call us Generation love, generation love
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| We are children of divorce
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| Victims of dysfunction
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| We spell check, of course
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| And GPS the proper junction
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| We’ve gotten pretty good at shifting all the blame
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| But I think I hear an old song
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| Calling my new name
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| Generation love
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| Not generation lost
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| Or generation greed
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| Or the connected generation
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| To a plasma screen or a generation
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| Or a generation why
|
| Enough is not enough
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| Or maybe they’ll call us Generation love, oh, generation love
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| And when they open up our time capsule
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| A hundred years from now
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| Maybe they’ll look inside
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| And see we figured out
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| How to live with less
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| And give ourselves away
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| Just maybe they’ll call us Just maybe they’ll call us Generation love
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| We are a brand new generation on the rise
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| Generation love
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| We are a brand new generation on the rise
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| Generation love |