why why why oh why

do the master-heads believe the dumb-clucks are ailing

don't know why but their butts are always sticking out in the way

stinking up the land with mischief and funk and dirtying the common good

something needs to change

like tire-tracks scurrying the grassy-greens of gold-courses bone-dry

and the banks of rivers filled with the enemy-air of poisoned grass

what the hell says the sleek bureaucrats hiding behind their funds while running to other lands

bucks in hand and billions from a scam

while the lambs of small-folk pretend that one day they'll reach the promised  land

they're a joke of impostors stringing their lusts o'er the sky-labs of wretched wealth

constantly high-jacking the poor with the bitsy picks of trash they conceive themselves to have

it drives me nuts to smell the garbage of the American dream

and prance about the hay fields with buckets of coins awaiting the dollar bills to fall

i wipe my face with the cloth of my flesh hoping that the schmuck dissolves and the trash files away

but the future is cursed and the fire-flies enjoy the fourth of July once more

meanwhile

all about the nation the death-holes begin to fill

while the scattered toilet tissue of the cursed and the proud

scour for for some tiny piece of greed attempting to keep themselves alive

a pity

what a pity