It was a hot June day, and my ass was sticking to the
seat of my girlfriend's car.
Staten Island traffic in the summer, baby.

And when you stuff yourself into a suit and tie do you
think the judge can see through the sweat as he gives
you your fine for a post-panic attack speeding ticket
on a 90 degree day in New York. And yeah, you're gonna
drive home for three hours to work in a basement for
tribute bands making posters to pay about a fifth of
that price. It's just Staten Island traffic in teh
summer. Oh!

That orange ball.
That burning orb of fire in the sky is gonna explode
and we're all gonna die!
Except for the foolish few who will "think ahead" and
drive their SUV's to their bomb shelters
Complain about air conditioning because "baby, we
ain't got no more electricity."
They wanna rise when it's done, be a leader with a
gun.
Be a leader of what? Like a hundred and one?
Well, fuck it, I'm gonna hang out on the rooftop when
it comes.

'Cause when it's dark, it'll be night time, baby.
And I'll get my ass on up out of this mess.
The only stores that are open, baby.
They gonna sell beer, and they're gonna sell ice
cream.
And we'll drink drink drink and get drunk drunk drunk
and we'll talk talk talk about how much fun we had,
yeah, when
we were fuckin' the world.

Through the glares on our windshields, we can't see
each others eyes, just McDonalds cups and wrappers
that they're throwing at full speed. And yes, I long
for a shadow. And yes, I always appreciate the irony
that the only cool comfort that allows us to see is a
goddamn billboard. Sing it with me.

A BILL BOARD IS THE ONLY THING PREVENTING US FROM
BLINDLY CRASHING. And we'll never see a city not
marred by advertisements, and we'll NEVER have a
future not working for those companies, and it's sure
as shit not getting better so we might as well accept
it now, oh.

And that really doesn't cheapen anything because,
baby, we're all born to be businessmen. Every Fugazi
record has a catalog number and a price tag and every
independent label is selling you another goddamn
product. But, NO, WE'RE not slaves to the music. Oh
no, WE'RE not slaves to the company, baby. We do what
we're born and raised to do and when you create
something, you're producing something and that act of
producing is the creation of a product.

'Cause when it's night, it'll be night time, baby.
And I'll get my ass on up out of this mess.
The only stores that are open, baby.
They gonna sell beer, and they're gonna sell ice
cream.
And we'll drink drink drink and get drunk drunk drunk
and we'll talk talk talk about how much fun we had,
yeah, when
we were fuckin' the world.
Oh we were fucking the world.
Yeah, we were fu fu cking cking the the world world.

When the sun drops, you ain't gonna be hungover the
next day.
When the comet hits, you ain't gonna have no bills to
pay.
When the bomb hits, it's gonna be a four day weekend.
Hey hey!
When it's all done I'm gonna feel great finally.

And when I finally got to work today, I ate my Subway
sandwich, and I drank my Coca-Cola Classic, and then I
ate my Sunchips and I thought about the weekend when
I'd fill up my Ford van with Mobil brand gas and drive
to the Clear Channel venue and I'd drink myself a
Budweiser and play my Fender guitar through my Fender
amplifier and tell the kids with a straight face
through a Shure microphone and JBL speakers that
corporate rock is for suckers.


Post by fabbber