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lyrics

I won the war shoppin large at the Valley Forge
It's what I do, It's how I do my chores.
The mall is how I make, and I always make more
Stack it from ceiling down to floor

Braggin for booze, got your brand wagon driving
Got the President on hold and your union boss crying
I woke to the suit, mic podium is lying
Muthaf-ckas in the back got me autograph signing

Keep it loose, slide the noose, makin juice
Now infected feel the flow and thus in inflect it
Make your mark, feel the spark, take your part, and go and grab it
How come I feel like burning down the family cabin?

So let it go, the bag, full of all those heels and crosses
Cops and thieves and bosses, teachers, priests, and coffins
All of those who came and caught 'em, put the crown on those that bought em,
Celebrate all that fought 'em

Make a bet,
Strike a match, strike a pose, strike a set
Meet your match, meet your man, pay a tax if you can
On the two birds in your hand
No trophy on the mantle
No i's or v's after my handle.

I love your top, who is that, where'd you get it? Guam?
Or did you pay a nickel to a kid in Vietnam?
Flashlight, insulated wrap, MREs
How come no jean pockets are built for these
But they fit rubble, dust, looms, and bodies
Manufacture poverty in garment factories
One less mouth to feed, wallet to bleed, link card to read
(Goddam your ass looks good in those jeans)

So swirl that shit, ice cold chardonnay
You go on automatic and plow your own way
With the kids in tow, to the the target we shop
We make it rain on the blood cuz the deals don't stop.
yeah.

Lay-off, Pay-off,
How you think it's paid off
Work my fucking a--off
Death to Bernie Madoff.
Had to make a trade-off so I took what I could get
I'm rolling on the low end of the forty set.
And there's a spirit in the man out to get me
I keep pushing him down, but he won't let me be
The past ain't the past when you carry it now
When the baggage on your back keeps on dragging you down

But to where, what shelf, with what health, with what wealth
With what sin, with what spin, with what skin?
Cuz the rungs on the ladder don't go all the way up
Need the man with the hatchet who don't give a f-ck.

credits

from Death -or- How I Cut My Hand Open Digging the Grave of My Best Friend, released October 30, 2014

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simpleton Chicago, Illinois

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