I f**in' love that one rock video where
that f**ing jack-a** mohawked millionaire
prances around by far the worst sausage party on earth,
where by mere chance he's caught on film shaking hands
with an incredibly diverse collection of patriotic skins.
I like the message it sends:
With a Rebel yell, Just Do Exactly What You're Told.
One million douche bags can't be wrong?
"When did punk rock become so safe?"
You'll excuse me if I laugh in your face
as I itemize your receipts
and PowerPoint your balance sheets.
I hear this year's Vans Warped Tour is "going green!"
I guess they heard that money grows on trees.
Hope they ship all those sh**ty bands overseas
like they did the factories.
Music's power to describe, compel, renew...
It's all a distant second to the offers you can't refuse.
Anyone remember when we used to believe
that music was a sacred place and not some f**ing bank machine?
Not something you just bought and sold?
How could we have been so naive?
Well, I think when all is said and done,
just cause we were young doesn't mean we were wrong.
And I'll rock back and forth
on this two-bit hobbyhorse
'til she splinters and gives way.
I'll tend the flowers by her grave.
And whisper her name.
If anyone out there understands
can I please see a show of hands
just so I know I'm not insane?
Ever get the feeling you've been played?
Well, that's rock for sustainable capitalism and you know,
we may face a scorched and lifeless earth,
but they're accountable to their shareholders first.
That's how the world works.