| Mr Johnson didn’t sleep too well |
| Last night he dreamt about the |
| Early days again |
| Looking in his mirror, feeling sad |
| Because he looked much better then |
| He played his guitar |
| What a star |
| He broke every heart, his clothes were so smart |
| Mr Johnson cries, when he recalls |
| The days when he was everybody’s face |
| Mr Johnson takes a walk |
| He passes by the record store and sighs |
| He considers entering |
| But hesitates, it’s silly, 'cause |
| It’s just becuase he won’t be recognized |
| He played his guitar |
| What a star |
| He broke every heart, his clothes were so smart |
| Mr Johnson cries, when he recalls |
| The days when he was everybody’s face |
| Mr Johnson, humpty-dumpty, sat upon the wall |
| And had a great fall |
| And all the record companies and |
| Fat production managers |
| Could not get mr Johnson back together again |
| He played his guitar |
| What a star |
| He broke every heart, his clothes were so smart |
| Mr Johnson cries, when he recalls |
| The days when he was everybody’s face |