Well let me tell you something
About the Maharishi camp
In Rishikesh
There were one or two attractive women there
But mainly looked like, you know
Schoolteachers or something
And the whole damn camp
Was spying on the ones in the bathing suits
And theyre supposed to be meditating
And theres this cowboy there called Tom
Who plays cowboys on TV
And my, did the Beatle wives go for him in a big way
I wondered what it was -
It was his tight leather belt
His jeans, and his dumb eyes
They seemed to love them eyes
Me, I took it for real
I wrote six hundred songs about how I feel
I felt like dying, and crying, and committing suicide
But I felt creative and said:
What the hells this got to do with
What that silly little mans talking about?
But he did charm me in a way
Because he was funny, sort of cuddly
Like a sort of, you know
Little daddy with a beard
Telling stories of heaven
As if he knew
You could never pin him down
But he often spread rumors through his right hand man
Who used to be with the CIA
And told about the planes he saved
How Maharishi came through the storm on a plane
And the pilot was getting worried they couldnt land
When Maharishi looked up
And with one foul look
Everything was OK and they landed
After that I thought: lies
But who was that woman that looks like Jean Simmons
That keeps going to him for private interviews?
She must have been about forty, forty-five
Kept telling about her husband cause he wasnt there
He was always trying to get a private audience with the Maharishi
And he kept refusing
I knew only one thing:
He must have had some of his own
It must have been that little Indian piece
She came with the tailor
And could sit at his feet
And that was one in five hundred
The rest had to wait like good American people
In lines to see the master walking on the petals
Who lived in a million dollar staccato house overlooking the Himalayas
He looked holy
I couldnt say that, but he certainly wasnt...
In the true sense of the word, that is