Lyrics:

In a pad with no heat, up on Sullivan Street
The last of the hipsters lay dyin'
Wearin' his shades, so like no one could tell
Like whether or not he was cryin'
All the junkies and loners
An' coffee shop owners
Were all gathered 'round his bed
He took one last puff
Of some imported stuff
And this are the last words he said
He said, \'Send my sandals home to Mom
Hang my T-shirt away
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar'
'Cause I never learned how to play
Give my pad
To some needy lad
And tell him the rent is all paid
Keep my cash
An' my stash
An' my hash
But bury me in my shades
Bury me in my shades, boys
Bury me in my shades
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar'
But bury me in my shades.\'
He said, \'Give my Brooklyn chicks away
To anyone who needs 'em
Give all of my poems away
To anyone who'll read 'em
Dig me a grave 'neath the coffeeshop
And let a sad folksong be played
Get everyone high
On the moment I die
Bury me in my shades
Bury me in my shades, boys
Bury me in my shades
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar'
But bury me in my shades.\'
We threw his sandals out in the hall
We left his T-shirt lay
We sold his guitar
At the corner bar
To someone who knew how to play
We smoked all his stash
And spent all his cash
And threw all his poems away
And Bob got his records
And Ed got his books
And I got the poor beatnik shades
\'Bury me in my shades, boys, \' he said
\'Bury me in my shades
Burn my guitar
In Washington Squar'
But bury me in my shades.\'