Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
before the days of Dylan or the dawn of Camelot,
there lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me.
Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born.
Navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.
We hadn’t seen enough of jets to talk about the lag.
Microchips were left-overs in the bottom of the bag.
We longed for love and romance and waited for our Prince.
Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one’s seen him since.
We danced to Little Darlin’; sang to Stagger Lee,
and cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Only girls wore earrings then, and three was one too many.
Only boys wore flat-top cuts and no one’s jeans were “skinny.”
Never in our wildest dreams did we expect to see,
a boy named George with lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We fell for Frankie Avalon; Annette was oh, so nice,
and when they made a movie, they never made it twice.
We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,
and Oprah couldn’t talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We’d never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead.
Airplanes weren’t named Jefferson and Zeppelins weren’t Led.
For youth was still eternal and life was yet to be,
and Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.
But all things have a season, or so we’ve heard them say.
Now instead of Maybelline, we swear by Retin-A.
We face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
and wonder why they’re using smaller print in magazines
As we read those invitations to join AARP,
we tell our children’s children of the way it used to be,
long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, Me.