Dead Kennedys

We're world industry's thoughtlords

The entertainment wing

We keep you all in line

By fixing your free will

Surround you with pop fantasies

Just slightly out of reach

To soften all the blows

Of your forced daily routine

We strip-mine your underground culture

Take the bite out and rinse it clean

Give ourselves credit for creating it

Then sell it back to you

At twice the price

Our pool of talent vampires

Has blown into your town

To dazzle, sign and milk you

All strictly on our own terms

You think you've got a lot to say

We'll change that real soon

You're not a person anymore

We've made you a cartoon

By the time we're through remolding you

You won't even recognize your face

There's no end to the eager beavers

Drawn the moths to our Babylon's mirage

Conveyor belt of fleshdunce

They all want to do the fleshdance

Conveyor belt of fleshdunce

Who all want to do the fleshdance