Once upon a time

In the days of two‑three‑five‑oh

Something unusual was going on  

A bunch of us were playing poker‑‑‑

Billy, Cal, Aardi, and yours truly  

Times were parched‑‑‑

Rumor had it Cal had some super

But so far he hadn't shown it

So we were making do with suds quarts  

The game progressed into the wee hours

And at one point Cal broke down

And broke out that elixir  

Soon I'd won a few hands

And so, feeling a little swelled

Started singing an old Kinks song

"Who'll Be The Next In Line"  

Soon it was Cal's turn to rake in a few hands

And to my mild amazement he started singing

"Who'll Be The Next In Line"  

We kept playing til dawn

Then headed for Tommy's

For some of his famous burgers  

We returned to try to catch some rest

Before we left for the River  

You see, it was spring break

And Aardi, Cal, and I

Along with Pat Smith from down the street, and Z

Were going to the Colorado River to camp  

After two or three hours shuteye

We woke to start our journey cross‑state  

We packed the gear we'd need

And headed south to pick Z up

At his folks' in Fullerton  

The freeway traffic was creeping

And again we were stonesober

'Cept for some vino being passed

As we began the 200 mile truck east      

We were still in the thick grey overcast

Though more than fifty miles from L.A.

When suddenly Cal fired a manna stick  

Everything shifted gears  

Within a few minutes

The smog began to disperse

So that it was almost sunny  

Soon the smog broke up altogether

And we emerged into a hot, blue‑skied day  

Up to that time

The only sounds we had had

Were L.A. AM crud and commercials‑‑‑

We were getting out of range

So I started twiddling the dial  

In an unfamiliar spot on the dial

A station was playing something good

And coming in loud and clear  

A little while later there was a pregnant pause

And then a song which starts quite abruptly

Ripped out at us from the radio:

"Who'll Be The Next In Line"  

Hours passed and country rolled by

And eventually we hit Blythe

Which stinks to high heaven of manure  

Just a few more miles to the river  

We felt out a few campgrounds

On both sides of the river

But still had no claim staked

Until we came upon a state park on the Arizona bank  

We noted a few tents, etc.

And decided to take a chance

So we planted ourselves

For the five‑day holiday ahead  

Turned out the group next to ours had z's

And we couldn't argue with such luck  

As there were maybe 1 in 5 sites occupied when we arrived

By first nightfall maybe half were

And a day later no spots were vacant      

It was over 100 degrees every day‑‑‑

And the nights were wild‑‑‑

Over 100 people partying every night  

We had to leave a day early

When the man came and told everyone to clear out  

As we were standing around

Saying so‑long to the people we'd befriended

This one red freak who'd swum the river across and back all downed‑out

Started singing a song to himself‑‑‑

"Who'll Be The Next In Line"