Privacy has got me by the throat
it's cut me down to size in quarter notes
and I'm have the man I was when this was written
but twice as shy now that I've been knocked around
Specifically? I'm talking about my home.
Forget providence, I make my own.
I'm doing a residency in music in a strictly commercial zone and I can't even believe that I'm at odds with the city
do I have to get endighted to get support around here?
I mean I'm not Dunkin Donuts but I'm giving back to society
and you don't recognize without the label validation spectacles(e)
the one who stands for something is just the one born with no knees
so don't expect me to rock it in your name, sitting sidelines in the radio game.
Replace me with a supermarket, over there we'll build a mall.
soon comparison rockers shop at the Century Lounge or the Call.
We hit a wall a while ago built on premature reputations
but now we fall between the lines the city fails to read,
confused by lyrical subject matter (other than that promoting weed)
and time signatures designed for something more than moving feet
but I've been drinking water working harder than anyone else who's unemployed
six years of shows and all excuses are null and (the) void
we've fallen into
"Hey, it's Gruvin Bigpants Kids. I seen yous play at da Lupo's. Are ya still doin da music thing?"
In this "biz" we're not "kids" we're "casualties"
caught in the crossfire of trying to out-grunt colleagues
swallowing bands with hollow throats
I'd say we could coexist but being a good sport doesn't put Ramen on the table.
And this musical cannibalism is just a side effect
whether or not you see the invisible teeth that the media nips at your feet with
believe that neither rain nor sleet nor minimum wage will keep me from stopping the Poo Lyrical Tyranny
in the spirit of capitalism
with the spirit of an audio collision
I sing to you, Phantoms of a Million Bad Decisions, "Ha
