Two and a half minutes of glorious noisy weirdness by the immortal Moby Grape. Pure 1967 psychedelic adrenaline, like the Jefferson Airplane anticipating the Ramones. The song was untitled until somebody asked Skip Spence what it was called; "Omaha" was the first thing that popped into his addled head. The lyrics are gibberish but who cares?
What? You don't know who Moby Grape were?! Shame on you. Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it, though in this case I wouldn't object.
The italics are where the whole band chimes in.
by Alexander "Skip" Spence
Listen, my friends
Listen, my friends
Listen, my friends
Listen, my friends
(
Listen, my friends) You thought never but
(
Listen, my friends)
I'm yours forever
(
Listen, my friends) Won't leave you ever
Now my friends
What's gone down behind
No more rain
From where we came
(
Listen my love)
Get under the covers, yeah
(
Squeeze me real tight) All of your lovin'
(
Into the light)
Beneath and above ya
(
So out of sight) Bein' in love!