Money In The Banana Stand Slaughterhouse 5.0
Saying when you've had enough,
there's only one way life can work, I know its rough.
Your every breath is our decision,
your painful death, our corporate mission
Your whole existence is just a segment in a pie chart.
There's no resistance to this system built with no heart.
Tortured muscle, limp bodies draped on cold wire.
Immaculate board rooms, tailored CEO's conspire
I don't need to feed your kids,
I don't need to pay your bills
I don't need to watch you die
but in the back of my mind....
So whaddaya' do?
Yeah, whaddaya do?
Yeah, whaddaya do?
Yeah what do you do?
That's right you do whatcha gotta do,
un huh, you do whatcha gotta do.
I guess you do what you do and you can't explain,
but you do whatcha gotta...
You breed in bulk, family farmers cashing welfare checks,
'Just an extension of the hunter-gatherer reflex'?
Our only option, our money for your guilt?
Guess that's the trampled shattered stone
on which your whole f..ckin' system is built.
And every day's the same,
twisting and turning,
I can't explain.
And if i could do it again,
I would not be a man.
but something that grows,
f..ck it, something that knows.
Will I grow, will I wilt?
I dream of a world without guilt.
