The wealthiest party in the poorest part of town,

where old men masturbate to thoughts of

wealthy suits and hybrid cars.

And somewhere a woman's fallen down,

she’s given up, she is beat,

her eighteenth son died today, 

it was the heat.



There’s laws passed for the rich,

there’s a concert for the poor,

there’s a riot going on, 

they say that this will last too.



The carpets are carpeted, the sky is blue and clean,

tell your mother that the problem is it just can’t be seen.

There’s lights in the alley, screams in the dark,

I got my iPod™ headphones on, though, so I just can’t hear them cry.



People want equality! Peace and love,

so they lynch a white man and they worship a white dove.

The cops run wild, beat up a young man

but he raped a little girl, so it’s alright.



The imagery, it is broken.

The songs are doom and gloom.

Dylan’s voice is all rusty.

The Pope™ is a raccoon.



Priests teach the children to bend over and receive,

while parents teach their kids to dance around and sing,

for these people, these people,

these people that I hate,

they tell me please do this so I do that instead.



We abuse African countries,

but give them some food too

and there's a man in the TV,

he’s been shot, stabbed, raped three times

but it’s just for laughs so I don’t mind.



And yes, you're right,

I’ve lost all touch with reality.

Hey, I don’t mind much. 

I washed my hands once already,

I don't want them to get dirty yet again.