Sunday, November 06, 2005

Turn Up Your Radio

there's a vietnam vet with a cardboard sign
sittin' there by the left-turn line
a flag on his wheelchair, flappin' in the breeze
one leg missin', and both hands free

no one's payin' much mind to him
the va budget's just stretched too thin
and there's more comin' back from the mideast war
we can't make it here anymore

Some very very high livewire hour of radio, 11:00-12:00, November 5, Steve, KZFR. Shoulda had the reels runnin'—all and every. Not often, anywhere, such a sound. The sound of one soul searing.

some have maxed out all their credit cards
some are workin' two jobs and livin' in cars
minimum wage won't pay for a roof,
won't pay for a drink

if you gotta have proof
just try it yourself, mister ceo

see how far five-fifteen an hour will go
take a part time job, at one of your stores
i bet you can't make it here anymore

In intro Steve suggested that rather than farce an election we should commence insurrection.

there's a high-school girl with a bourgeois dream
just like the pictures in the magazine
she found on the floor of the laundromat
a woman with kids can forget all that
if she comes up pregnant what'll she do
forget the career, forget about school
can she live on faith, live on hope
high on jesus, or hooked on dope
when it's way too late to just say no
you can't make it here anymore

Dreaming "Kill the King," Steve decided "We Can't Make It Here Anymore."

now i'm stocking shirts in the wal-mart store
just like the ones we made before
'cept this one came from singapore
i guess we can't make it here anymore

Me, I'm Michael Corleone. Of the mob, looking to out. Always someone to "pull me back in."

should i hate a people for the shade of their skin
or the shape of their eyes or the shape i'm in
should i hate 'em for having our jobs today
no, i hate the men sent the jobs away

i can see them all now, they haunt my dreams
all lily white, and squeaky clean
they've never known want, they'll never know need
their shit don't stink and their kids won't bleed
their kids won't bleed
in their damn little war

and we can't make it here anymore

Pulling me back in: tonight it was you, Steve. When I was really reaching to pull out. And then you sound.

will work for food, will die for oil
will kill for power, and to us the spoils
the billionaires get to pay less tax
the working poor get to fall through the cracks

so let 'em eat jellybeans, let 'em eat cake
let 'em eat shit, whatever it takes
they can join the air force, or join the corps
if they can't make it here anymore

So, yeah, well, I guess. Yeah, yeah, sure. Right: sure. Yes, dammit. Yes.

Yes, I've reupped.