October 04, 1989 12:00 PM

Bye-bye ’80s! in the words of the Vanna/ So long Dar(r)yls Strawberry and Hannah/ Shed a fat tear for Leave it to Deaver/ Abscam. Meese and trickle-down fever!

Quick before Michael J. Fox starts shavin’/ And We gotta deal with the misbehavin’/ The high-five stunts and the fourth-and-long punts/ The ’90s gonna put us through more than once/ We got a list to lay on ya, sisters and brothers/ Of how things would be if we had our druthers.

The ’90s gotta give us better high-tech gear/ Forget digital tape—we want digital beer! I We’ll watch Pee-wee Herman wrinkle in high definition/ Then fax ourselves to Venus on a fax-finding mission.

Let’s get the Japanese to build a robot spouse/ Who holds two jobs and even cleans the house/ Who has a perfect disposition and an M.B.A./ Lets us play Nintendo in 3D all day.

We Want a smog-free planet with no acid rain/ Not a greenhouse oven that deep-fries your brain/ Where the rain forests shrink, and the ozone hole enlarges/ And the coastline is littered With garbage barges/ Where the nation starts facin’ so much toxic waste/ We have to pile it up into a 51st state.

Now there’s a hell f’ya—Landfilladelphia!

Give us cars that run on Perrier and Gatorade/ And disposable diapers that can biodegrade/ We want clean power that’s not an intrusion/ Betcha white Wine and nachos produce cold fusion!

Maybe Mr. T should come back riding Mr. Ed/ With Mr. Mister, Twisted Sister and Mister Rogers (Fred)/ And take off on a megatour to save the whales/ Who in gratitude will wade ashore to save the Quayles!

We want social justice for black, white, straight and gay/ So no one lives in ghettos, equal work gets equal pay/ Chill out global tension and you’ve got a double whammy/ Real peace and love will take the place of Jim and Tammy.

Then Gorby and Bush will get terminally sauced/ Toasting kinder, gentler nations and the joys of glasnost/ Till the White House, and the Kremlin draw up peaceable plans/ For an NFL franchise in Afghanistan.

If only some of this happens come millennium time/ They’ll make the Pentagon a disco and a Concorde ride a dime/ So when Elvis comes to earth in a sequined UFO/ And says, “I found galactic Graceland and you gotta go”/ We’ll tell him, “Man, you got the Memphisis on the wrong foot/ Go sing the blues on Betelgeuse, we’re staying put.”

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