This is the sound of my brain
Then I said, this is the sound of my brain
On Don Henley
Then I said, 1, 2, 3, 4

He's a tortured artist
Used to be in the Eagles
Now he whines
Like a wounded beagle

Poet of despair
Pumped up with hot air
He's serious, pretentious
And I just don't care

Don Henley must die
Don't let him get back together
With Glenn Frey
Don Henley must die

Turn on the TV
And what did I see?
This bloated hairy thing
Winning a Grammy

Best rock vocalist
Compared to what?
But your pseudo-serious
Crafty Satanic blot

Don Henley must die
Put a sharp stick in his eye
Don Henley must die
Yea, yea, yea

Quit playin' that crap
You're out of the band
I'm only kidding
Can't you tell?

I love his sensitive music
Idiot poetry, swell, you and your kind
Are killing rock and roll
It's not because you are O L D
It's 'cause you ain't got no soul

Don't be afraid of fun
Loosen up your ponytail
Be wild, young, free and dumb
Get your head out of your tail

Don Henley must die
Don't let him get back together
With Glenn Frey

Don Henley must die
Put him in the electric chair
Watch him fry

Don Henley must die
Don Henley must die
No Eagles reunion
The same goes for you, Sting