Old folk songs about the government
To the Socialist Review
And all at once
Whatever selves will decide
The baseball game was letting out
He said these fuckers push on you
The anthem's playing loud
With all that trash at his feet
At the end
The billboards shade
But there's no hell when you die
It's love of money not the market
So don't look so worried
The pools of piss in the street
Or to occupy some time
In that unemployment line
All of that filthy empathy
Got in his truck and turned around
And maybe he lost control
Listening to records in his basement
He even got me a subscription
Anything to serve the function
Don't worry
The flags they wave
You saw the dust and hurt
Don't worry
You're good as dead without a bank account
At the end
He got a night life, lost his day job
And turned the sound
For the way we're feeling
Drove out past that sickening sprawl
Don't worry
Pushing papers, swinging pendulums
But it's funny how that life has felt down
And freedom yells, it don't cry
Fucking with the radio
At the end
But I bet the stars seem so close
Out past that fenced in gold
Drove out past that center mall
You gotta earn this living somehow
At the end
Drove out through the crowd and the cops
