Know I feel the purpose of your art, buried in books that try to stay anything but outdated All the pushers trying to leave their mark, every single suited man, vile and red-faced It's a little much, gotta filter out the mush Smile and face the modern tyranny, monetary gain was never on your list of needs in the first place Trying just to speak authentically, putting out your feelers, wheeling with the dealers, cutting out your own way It's a little much, gotta fiddle with the slush Know we can't be anything but inextricably linked to the spots upon your soul Every time I see you sitting in your giddyup blue jeans, I feel you needing something after all Know I feel the purpose of your art, buried in books that try to stay anything but outdated All the pushers trying to leave their mark, every single suited man, vile and red-faced It's a little much, gotta filter out the mush