i come from a place we used to call PissHole oddly, pronounced Paso, Non-sequitur was the password - dreams of riches, poverty stricken, i lost cars, but got chicken; fill that glass again! drinkin' the finest Gin, all the cares of single mom's taken care of they babies, I got out, get yours - maybies? I ain't never belonged, not to the poor, not to the rich, I sold that integrity for some scraps of material dignity... now i get drunk on the cheap, grow my own weed, i'm payin' for chicken feed get my eggs for free - poach that bitch! i got Hollandaise sauce and no lack of forgiveness, freed myself long ago of man maid guilty-ness... but i still tell grand lies and I won't feel bad when Ministers die - i'll dance on their failed... legacies, to songs of their great misdeeds! but I won't give in, broken soul or not - broke my mind, like Winston's so I'm waitin' to get shot. but We all got got - payin' rent on dying lots, the shit i'm in again payin' war taxes for sinnin' men And Ferdinand, he's still dead and that MotherFucker Mr. Braenkli is still walkin' around free, with his fat cat's belly... I hope his family is vain enough to think this song is about him! cause he deserves to get got; maybe someone someday will do what's got to be done - put the leaders under the gun. Ferdinand didn't sing in vain, he sung for us, the people, who live in imposed pain, He sung for freedom and for dignity, he sung for those who could hear, he sung for love and decency, he sung through all our tears!
screaming at low volumes
