Yeah! You got more trouble than you can handle, honey!
What the fuck are you gonna do?
How are you gonna scrape on by?
I do believe that there are two things you do in this situation,
you leave town or go into hiding.
Because some people got brains and other people got talent,
others just look good.
You and me, we got none of those things, but listen up:
Uh my, my, my, my, what a position:
The love of my life smoking crack in the kitchen.
Lovely long nails and a nasty half grin:
Its a livin, she shrugs.
It's a missile disguised as an ethic.
It's a rabbit suffocating in a rabbit hole.
It's politics as usual.
Ba Ba Bum, Ba Ba Bum Ba Bum
Ba Ba Bum, Ba Ba Bum Ba Bum
Ba Ba Bum, Some kind of disaster relief.
Honest homes,
simple words, simple words,
and honest hopes are like skipping stones.
Skipping stones.
Well you can tell that things are getting terribly real
when the suckers in charge don't even gotta lie to the people.
And the only megaphone left working is attached to a steeple.
It's a concrete national forest.
It's a kid with a gun at the age of 10.
It's like the last dying gasp of a friend.
Ba Ba Bum, Ba Ba Bum Ba Bum
Ba Ba Bum, Ba Ba Bum Ba Bum
Ba Ba Bum, Some kind of disaster relief.

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