"Cinnamon Girl" (Neil Young & Crazy Horse)

When I was a little kid, my mother owned many (many) 45 singles from the late 60s/early 70s.  She used to keep them in these old, round cookie tins because all of them had lost their paper sleeves years before.  Those tins were a treasure trove of randomness.  I'd often empty them out on our living room floor and pick about a dozen to listen to, usually based on their colorful labels.  This method of selection made for an odd mix of music: British songstress Petula Clark mingling with Harry Nilsson, The Rolling Stones, and countless one-hit-wonders.
One time, I recall spotting this record that had a colorful yellow-orange label with a riverboat on it.  I thought it looked cool, so I put it on the turntable.  Not sure what I was expecting exactly, but I was bowled over by the chunky electric riff that came blasting through the speakers.
I also remember my mother's reaction.  She got all flustered and asked me, "Geez, where did you find that record?"  I was probably five years old at the time, but even at that young age I could tell the song had some sort of nostalgic bond for her—something from her high school days that was far enough in the past to leave there but vivid enough to make her blush.  (I'm guessing it was a guy.)
Anyway, the song was "Cinnamon Girl" by Neil Young & Crazy Horse, a track that Young supposedly wrote in an afternoon (along with "Down By The River" and "Cowgirl in the Sand" from 1969's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere) while delirious with a 103-degree fever, bedridden by the flu.  
Sonically, the track perfectly captures the late 60s in my mind, combining hippie/folkie melodicism with a searing hard rock assault—kind of an aural and metaphorical bridge between Woodstock and Altamont.
It also is a song that constantly reminds me that our parents are real people and not saints, thankfully.