Gunga Din - The Byrds

I’m writing this here letter from abroad a D.C.8

Headin' into Angel town, I hope it’s not too late

It rained in New York City, Mr. Rock'n Roll couldn’t stay

The crowd was mad and we were bad, chasin' the sun back to L.A.

Have breakfast with me mama, I hope they’ll let us in

Got a leather jacket on, you know that it’s a sin

Gunga Din

Sittin' backwards on this airplane, it’s bound to make me sick

Spend your life on a D.C.8, never get to bed, settle down in the blue

Now we’re over Kansas where the clouds are flowing by

The whole wide world looks back at me

Just like a mushroom high, I wonder why