Listen up listen
I've gotta tell ya my opinion
About al these playboy
fly-by medallions
Hanging round in their millions
Like flies on a corpse, call the reporters
Call the hearse, write the raptors
Left for dead or worse
By the drive-by shooting
The night jar hoodlums
Who squeak like Nascar wheels
In the old bazaar deals
Well they've been squealing too
Like piggies stealing ciggies from the food mart
Bart, simpson, no mozart, Bartholemew
Higgins of the Boson fame, ships maine sail
Boson head the coxsawain, the sailors remain
Orsmen, boarsmen hunting down the wild war
mongering men, fishing for the guts and
Glory, its the same old story morning hoary
Through the pie hole
In the sky pole under vaunted roofs
Veritable like lead windows
Blown and fool-proof
But they had to catch you at them,
They had to sign the truth
The search warrant wouldn't cut it
It needed a razor tooth
Tiger biting the paper bark canoe
Of our sanities and majesties in tweedle dum, tweedle dee
Tee shirt wearing match stick men
Dumped like bitumen on the roads
And rolled over again and again
But the drive by shoot before thinking youths
That drink battery acid
Think they're battle proof
But we see through them like the glass
Windows that trap them where they are
Mean they will always be driving around the same cars
Until they are behind bars
Or worse
Someone call a hearse
I think I killed a nurse
When I shot at you
Oh I wish it were me
Not you in that grave that day
But its true
We don't get blue
When the sky turns grey
We get even
Stevens
In the good old fashioned way
