The son of Uncle Sam smiles and shakes my hand
Shakes me down and tells me that he wants to be my friend
His arms are thirty-eights and his head's a TV set
Showing reruns around the clock of Norman Rockwell's greatest hits
He's completely bullet-proof underneath a three piece suit
I fire off a couple rounds but I never hit the truth
He doesn't have a plan all he's selling is a dream
The only time your dreams come true is when you've fallen fast asleep
I can't believe what you believe
It's not the way things used to be
It's not as easy to agree
That I'm to blame for everything
I don't mean that much to you
And you don't mean that much to me
But if I have to live with you
Then you will have to live with me
I may be sick, but you're the disease
You're the disease
The son of Uncle Sam smiles and tips his hat
Takes me for a ride in his bloodstained Cadillac
He talks about the future but the car is in reverse
We're pa**ed by a Japanese sixty mile per gallon hearse
Separated from the world by a pane of tinted gla**
He's too blind to realize that we're running out of gas
I get out and push the car as he steers us towards the ditch
After I leave him behind I find my pockets have been picked
I can't believe what you believe
It's not the way things used to be
It's not as easy to agree
That I'm to blame for everything
I don't mean that much to you
And you don't mean that much to me
But if I have to live with you
Then you will have to live with me
I may be sick, but you're the disease
You're the disease