New York Times

Hetti Blackbird, Hetti Blackbird
Hetti Blackbird, that's the Indian's name
Out in South Dakota, he stole a gold Range Rover
And he drove it all over the empty plains

While Apache pilots haunt the River Tigress
In the laughing silence of the desert night
And the price of cocaine on a favorite ball game
I read it all, baby, in the New York Times

A pervert from Jersey with a thirty-thirty
Found them girls rehearsing in a ballet school
And when he bust in, point his musket
He turned Lilly white muslin into bright red bloom

As I read it here on the coffee street pier
I can't help but hear them buildings fall
And the way they came down and way they jumped out
There's no baseball glove in town that's gonna catch them all

So every New Year we come to Times Square
And we all howl there when the big ball drops
Don't trust your junk mail, don't touch the third rail
And baby, don't' you dare have the King of pop

'Cause the day they found him and brought his body in
The things that Doctor did was enough to strike you blind
So make my Lilly white lover, oh and oh, my brother
Never make the cover of the New York Times