Be Young You - Jefferson Starship

The tongues of some men are made of metal 
The tongues of some men are made of oil 
But the keeper of those men never rolled 
Their tongues for anybody's free ride but his own 
Now the oily tongues are thirsty for black gold. 

But the old men are going to bed 
They'll be sleeping through the future 
And the children red with fire 
They got to move away the old man's rusty beds. 

Now the tongue, the tongue of a master 
That should be laughter - with dancing legs 
Like a flying wheel for the weak and sad man 
Some tongues of man are made of silence 
And your eyes will listen.