Why do the worst always get to the top?
Be they a lawyer, banker or roided-up cop,
Who flies off in a rage if I quote him the law
Defending myself. Man, that’s the last straw.
Maybe it is that’s the gig with the Rules
Used by the Rulers on the Ruled.
Shout down the speakers, but defend the disturbed.
And throw all the deadbeats and their kids to the curb.
Let ‘em drug up your kids while they Tazer your Granny.
Or else here’s Nurse Ratchet, the inquisitor Nanny.
What do I want? And where am I going?
Why is Bernanke seen as all-knowing?
Where is the Horse and where is the Rider?
Where are my keys? Why am I wider?
Why do I hurt when I’m so broken and numb?
Why do we continue to fight for their crumbs?
When will the revolts turn from red to brown,
Forget violet or orange, stop trusting in clowns?
Shantih! Shantih! A seeming finale.
Conceived and produced by Alistair Crowley
What I want to know?
What I want to know?
What I want to know!
What I want to know?
What I want to know?
What I want to know!
The Dude’s not abiding, Mr. Wales is plumb mean
It enough to drive even the most rational green
The envy, the hate, the statistics, the jokes
All mask the real problem that everyone’s broke.
Bridges are falling, the culture’s decaying
Even the the hair of the dog’s begun greying.
Everyone’s talking and fingers are pointed
Anger makes everything sound so disjointed
It’s this more than terrorists that needs killin’
Less Hillary, Palin or Limbaugh more Dylan.
Just askin’ questions won’t get it done
You’d better sack up or they’ve already won.
Just find your voice, along with your balls
And get hold of this barrel before it reaches the falls.
But wait there’s much more that I don’t understand
As I stop and I turn to the guys in my band
And ask them what they thinks going on
Do they like the cut of the jib of this song?
They look at me and say that I am in charge
as long as this ship’s more a cruise than a barge
So get back in the groove, man,make a new start
Our whole is much more than the sum of our parts.
It’s real good advice and it cuts through the thickness
But doesn’t get down to the source of the sickness.
So, here’s my best offer Mr. Congressman Thievin’
Why don’t you go fuck yourself, and we’ll call it even.
What I want to know
Is when you will go
And leave us alone.
credits
from The Vicodin Diaries,
released September 5, 2011
Tom Luongo: music, lyrics, drums, djembe, bass guitar, vocals.
Andy Rojas: stunt guitar.
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