Comfy and content behind a wall of lies
Running his fingers through gathered wealth
John Q. Public Sr. vehemently denies
Trickery, deceit, subterfuge or stealth
"All I have," he loudly declares,
"Was earned by the sweat of my brow."
He'll raise his hand to show the calluses there
Well, they used to be there anyhow
He judges his neighbor without any facts
A righteous sneer is the mask he chooses
While wagging his finger at a list of stats
Tossing haphazardly verbal abuses
"Look here," he shouts, "I'm doing good"
His fat, wrinkled face looking smug
"By raising rents in your neighborhood"
"I'm pricing out the low-life thugs."
Every Sunday you'll find him in church
Loudly singing hosannas off-key
Looking so pious in his reserved perch
Front row center, dressed for high tea
But it's a nubile vision that dances in his mind
And that angelic smile is a lusty sneer disguised
At the local strip club is where you'll find
John Q. Public Sr. 'till just before sunrise
He'll wave his flag and say "Love it or leave it."
But it doesn't take much to understand that he means
"To hell with the Constitution, it's a bunch of shit!"
"There's only room here for folks just like me."
"So just go away, right now, all you devil-spawn,"
"If I had my way, you'd all just disappear."
"Stop casting your shadows on my manicured lawn!"
"Get out, go away, why are you still here?"
He fears that which he does not understand
And understands only that which he learned
As a child under his father's stern hand
His spirit destroyed before it ever yearned
His father's lessons were a very sharp knife
That carved his future as though it were soft wood
His soul never soared in the blue skies of life
Or danced to the rhythm of all that is good. |
