Utopia of a Volvo Generation

Don’t look at me you downtown fiend.. don’t ask me where your children are.. I know where they are, but I wont tell you… they begged me not to…

Your two piece suite and your roaring economy can take care of it’s self… I don’t care, go away.
I don’t eat your fast-food… tell me the truth do you really care where your children are?

Push me a little harder and I might tell you…I’m corrupting them with their own minds… I feed the trash music and trash T.V…. I taught them the Koran, Marx and the ensemble of prime time T.V.

Your children are safe with me… why should I tell you where they are…the same piece of pine tree that your father and father before that just wont do the job anymore… go away, don’t bother us.

I taught them to love the fags, count to ten and watch public television… I taught the white girls to love black men and I taught the white boys how to deal with it… healing their wounds with an un-holy trio of Bono, Dylan and soft play blues.

Do you really care where your children are… I told them your t-shirt and leather jacket cool can burn in hell… I taught them in every other white picket fence is a wife beater and a commandment breaker… burning in his own lust for a thirteen year old girl and a 1,400 foot ranch style…

Do you really want to know where your children are?