Every textbook read
Teaches us to take pride in your graft
Live for you and we can eat
And hope a few survive as children
They'll endure by tooth and claw
The world is yours, the anthem sings
Said bring you the bread
Clock in clock out pray to the calf
It's dishonorable to cheat
My blood becomes your billions
Your bloody hands stain every vault
All is yours but we have dreams
But guess what we got you instead
Don't bother dodging simple math
All for one was bare deceit
There's one of you, but we are millions
The blade is clean, and sharp, and broad
We'll only keep a headless king.
anti-capitalism
Billionaires
One thousand leeches suck the blood of America.
Weigh them and find them wanting.
Liquidate them.
Grind them up into meat,
And let them feed the hungry.
What I want is for every dirty, lousy tramp
To eat his fill.
To fatten his belly;
Let it not be a war,
But a packinghouse line.
Let their pleading
Be answered by a form letter.
Two thousand maggots gorge on the world.
Take back what they stole
From those who hunger and are not fed,
Those who are cold and are not clothed.
Drop the bombs on soft, pampered heads
And melt the flesh from their bones.
Let them learn what it is,
As they burn,
To beg.
BRCM Co.
One Morning as the sun came up
And the jungle camps were dampened
Up the track came a New York lawyer
He was a business champion
“I’ve found me a land that’s far away
Where no title can be counted.
It’ll all be mine, I’ll lay my claim
On the Big Rock Candy Mountains.”
On my Big Rock Candy Mountains
You can pay by week or night
You can use your credit card
Or a cheque if you can write
Where the railroad bulls are paid real well
To make sure you don’t ride
On the trains that bring my cigarette trees
To the factory where my workers bleed
At the BRCM Comp’ny
On my Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the cops drive big ol’ tanks
And I can call the National Guard
If my workers sleep too late
All these shiftless idlers
Should profit me or die
I let loose the jerk who invented work
Gave him a gun and I called him “son”
At the BRCM Comp’ny
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the hobos tried to fight
But they didn’t have no tools or guns
And right is made by might
I locked them all up in my jail
And gave them work release
Now they slave away for a dollar a day
While I rest at ease with my dollar bill trees
At the BRCM Comp’ny
Sophistry and Solipsism in the New Millennium 