| It may have been Camelot for Jack and Jacqueline
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| But on the Che Guevara highway filling up with gasoline
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| Fidel Castro’s brother spies a rich lady who’s crying
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| Over luxury’s disappointment
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| So he walks over and he’s trying
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| To sympathize with her but thinks that he should warn her
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| That the Third World is just around the corner
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| In the Soviet Union a scientist is blinded
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| By the resumption of nuclear testing and he is reminded
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| That Dr Robert Oppenheimer’s optimism fell
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| At the first hurdle
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| In the Cheese Pavilion and the only noise I hear
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| Is the sound of people stacking chairs
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| And mopping up spilt beer
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| And someone asking questions and basking in the light
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| Of the fifteen fame filled minutes of the fanzine writer
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| Mixing Pop and Politics he asks me what the use is I offer him embarrassment and my usual excuses
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| While looking down the corridor
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| Out to where the van is waiting
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| I’m looking for the Great Leap Forwards
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| Jumble sales are organized and pamphlets have been posted
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| Even after closing time there’s still parties to be hosted
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| You can be active with the activists
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| Or sleep in with the sleepers
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| While you’re waiting for the Great Leap Forwards
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| One leap forwards, two leaps back
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| Will politics get me the sack?
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| Here comes the future and you can’t run from it If you’ve got a blacklist I want to be on it It’s a mighty long way down rock 'n roll
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| From Top of the Pops to drawing the dole
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| If no one seems to understands
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| Start your own revolution, cut out the middleman
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| In a perfect world we’d all sing in tune
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| But this is reality so give me some room
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| So join the struggle while you may
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| The Revolution is just a t-shirt away |