Tuesday, September 20, 2005
City of Misery
Gasping in the shame they call New Orleans.*
Living in shit you think that we deserve.
So we beg for water in the sun
to learn our place in the longer run.
And can only pray a kingfish swims somewhere.
Hello America how be you?
Don't you know us? We're your native blacks.
We're the rape they call the City of New Orleans
starvin' here by the slave port on the gulf of rigs.
Oh we'll slap our feets on the levee there,
the one what ain't got broken yet,
for the quarters that you please to throw,
praising our natch-rul rhythm in your report.
But only wish you be tossin' instead some food.
Buck up America it's just us
We're here to show you we're your simmerin' blacks,
and regret to tell you we're true citizens too.
Though the Fed ass-suckers fake,
haven't told us to eat cake.
Cuz the righties sneer that we's obese
while they dig into the stolen feast.
And they'll gouge us for the garbage when that time comes.
Fess up America and get sane.
We're here to tell you we're your poverty.
And we's tricked to thinkin' heaven is minimum wage
with God's an overseer who'll spare the lash
and spit defunct white words with a little cash.
So right now we're your ravenous drones
while the Queens in ole DC throw back champagne
and the Kings board private jets to get away.
Strugglin' in the lake that is New Orleans
and lots of us is drownin' for the GOP,
but don't miss your tee time or your church
as the old among us puke and lurch
'mongst trash you sold us for your usury dream.
While the infant's diaper fills with political words
and bloated bodies float by turds,
it's all a corporate paradise reversed.
Preachers hawking chapter-verse
that holds them in their own vise of disgrace.
Hi there America what's shakin'?
Will the promises someday come a-tricklin' down?
Cuz it's a total bitch everything goin' to Mr Rich
and a prescription for blood to clog our streets.
Yeah the young ones gotta fix their minds
to die here in the war of class
or kill the babies in Iraq.
That's the choice of those who wanna please The Man.
Hello America how goes it? We're forced to tell you
we're your dogs.
.
*based on the song The City of New Orleans
by Steve Goodman
Gasping in the shame they call New Orleans.*
Living in shit you think that we deserve.
So we beg for water in the sun
to learn our place in the longer run.
And can only pray a kingfish swims somewhere.
Hello America how be you?
Don't you know us? We're your native blacks.
We're the rape they call the City of New Orleans
starvin' here by the slave port on the gulf of rigs.
Oh we'll slap our feets on the levee there,
the one what ain't got broken yet,
for the quarters that you please to throw,
praising our natch-rul rhythm in your report.
But only wish you be tossin' instead some food.
Buck up America it's just us
We're here to show you we're your simmerin' blacks,
and regret to tell you we're true citizens too.
Though the Fed ass-suckers fake,
haven't told us to eat cake.
Cuz the righties sneer that we's obese
while they dig into the stolen feast.
And they'll gouge us for the garbage when that time comes.
Fess up America and get sane.
We're here to tell you we're your poverty.
And we's tricked to thinkin' heaven is minimum wage
with God's an overseer who'll spare the lash
and spit defunct white words with a little cash.
So right now we're your ravenous drones
while the Queens in ole DC throw back champagne
and the Kings board private jets to get away.
Strugglin' in the lake that is New Orleans
and lots of us is drownin' for the GOP,
but don't miss your tee time or your church
as the old among us puke and lurch
'mongst trash you sold us for your usury dream.
While the infant's diaper fills with political words
and bloated bodies float by turds,
it's all a corporate paradise reversed.
Preachers hawking chapter-verse
that holds them in their own vise of disgrace.
Hi there America what's shakin'?
Will the promises someday come a-tricklin' down?
Cuz it's a total bitch everything goin' to Mr Rich
and a prescription for blood to clog our streets.
Yeah the young ones gotta fix their minds
to die here in the war of class
or kill the babies in Iraq.
That's the choice of those who wanna please The Man.
Hello America how goes it? We're forced to tell you
we're your dogs.
.
*based on the song The City of New Orleans
by Steve Goodman
