I wrote a song about boxing
But I'm better at avoiding a fight
Never gave or received a punch
I'm singing songs about freedom
On the cheapest PA I can find
Made in some sweat shop
Way out and no breaks for lunch
♪
There's no need to give myself a bloody eye
Don't want my family exposed
Great job, sweat shops America
With your fitness apps, and your CO2
And malarial outbreaks in Malibu
And my kid in the camps, and the guard with a gun staring past her
♪
And he's listening to false metal
Recording songs about rebellion in an attic that I rent from a friend
In a lowkey Utopian ethnostate
And we're both a bit uneasy, but it's better for us both just to wait
Or do nothing
There's no parallel parking in hell
There's no need to give ourselves a hernia
The real heavy lifting's for the young, it's alright
We've done enough, let's go to sleep
Yeah, we've won the right to get import foods
Cartel cocaine and organic shoes
And a guarantee of immunity from disasters
While we're listening to false metal
♪
False metal
I see the sunlight in the window
And a pile of my passed out friends
Under the ruins of an upturned couch
I went outside and started walking
To the gas station next to the house
Because there's no more time and the power's out
The fake priest sold napalm to the bourgeoisie
While the fake proletariat got stoned
With expensive weed they bought with face ID
But if nothing's real, then we get to choose
It's the end of time on a carnival cruise
Or a warehouse job in a blunt force cruiser
Or a nuclear war, or a great refusal
Call us dumb, you can tell us to leave
But the power's favorite word's naïve
It's an endless street to a face tattoo of an Oreo
And false metal