They tell me there is nothing that can't be bought or sold.
You learn that at your mother's knee when you are five years old;
Nothing that you can't convert into a pot of gold.
Somewhere on the trail
You pa** the sign, 'America For Sale'.
The way it goes, you strike a pose and everything you share
And show in your portfolio – we call it grin and bare –
But after art comes business, and with business, business flair.
In Harvard and in Yale
The signs all read 'America For Sale'.
Take a walk down any Main Street where the neon towers rise,
Crackling out their images; some even call them lies.
But money follows money – if you choose to advertise,
You really cannot fail.
Never, with America for sale.
The hookers out on Broadway and the ladies of Des Moines
Offer up a platter of their tasty tenderloin.
They'll give you heads or tails, and all you do is flip a coin
To touch the Holy Grail:
The business is 'America For Sale'.
You can see it in the movies, it comes as no surprise,
As plain there in the makeup as it is MacDonald's fries.
The very thing you love is the thing you most despise
Coming at you through the mail
In a package marked 'America For Sale'.