A Dirty Rotten Shame

Rufee toys for my babies,
Soulless, heartless machines bid for my indorsement,
            Please proceed and pick drone  A B or C
Faking accents feigning thoughtfulness,
Riding fenceposts and trying to sell their usefulness
            Calling from behind podiums,
            Waving me in with their canes toward their glittering-caged freaks
Revolution Revolution Revolution, No one cares.
What have we really got to care for anyway.
Purple mountain majesty, everyone loves a good tragedy,
              Time-honored and full of imminent demise,
Gold-thread spun fable, with no moral
Only flashy strobe lights and pyrotechnics and CGI and a thick-smoke spewing machine

The Mexicans are out to get me,
The Muslims are out to get me,
My food's out to get me,
My toys are out to get me,
And not a one of you,
              calling yourselves reasonable and intelligent and fair,
Not a one of you gets me.
Debating the pronunciations and punctuations,
Standing smiling on the smoldering ruins of a fallen nation
Arguing to get nowhere and even arguing that.
Money Money, Me Me Me, Mine Mine Mine.
Everything must be for our own gain or it's worth not our time,
And everything must be spelled out precisely to a well-topped T.
Red tape drapes everything like streamers of blood
Too risky to say hello for fear of accusations of assault
Filthy and souless finks lining their mansions with money
              finagled and wrenched from pure people's pockets
Painting their walls in dead boy's blood and buckets of tears
Cluttering our heads with your nonsense
              and loop-hole leaps, mumbo-jumbo and doule-talk,
              raising your voice over all others to make your sick point

All of the good of this great nation,
Tarnished by a handful of sorcerers,
Playing flashy tricks and illusions,
              in front of the eyes of an unbeleiving world,
              leaving them thinking we are all like you,
And you gotta understand, man,
That's about the furthest thing from the truth.