From the recording Souled Out
7. SUPER BOWL 3000
It's time for:
Super Bowl 3000.
The crowd has filled the stands
With piss-warm beer, Monsanto snacks
Shipped in from foreign lands.
Soldiers guard each entrance.
Tanks patrol the grounds.
Snipers ring the upper stands,
Their guns aimed at the crowd.
The PA blares the anthem
Played by the Army Band.
But no one knows the lyrics now,
And no one even stands.
They fire off some cannon,
The blasts are good and loud.
A squad of jets flies through the sky,
Dropping chem-trails on the crowd.
With a flourish of some trumpets,
It's time to start the game.
The players march onto the field,
The teams are always the same.
The Union-Loving Democrats,
The gun-toting G.O.P.
The only two teams left in the league,
They're quite a sight to see!
Supreme Court referees arrive,
But only just a quorum.
They wear their robes striped white and black
Like a prison uniform.
The President, he takes the mike,
And blesses the USA.
He begs the teams to just play fair,
Then leaves to cash his pay.
Chief Justice blows the whistle.
The Kick-off sails downfield.
The two teams hustle back and forth,
Each tries to seal the deal.
The Democrats push forward
With a play aimed at the poor.
The G.O.P. deflects the blow
With another call for war.
The Dems try deregulation,
And pander toward the banks.
The G.O.P. won't be outdone,
They tighten up their ranks.
The G.O.P. gets gutsy:
They call for cutting schools.
The Democrats don't really mind,
So they fumble around like fools.
Both teams attack with gusto,
But the fight is just a fake.
They share the very same locker room
And both are on the take.
They get their plays from coaches
Who like to shout and roar.
The coaches are really lobbyists,
The lowest form of whore.
The coaches wear expensive suits
And earphones on their heads.
The orders piped into the 'phones
Come directly from the Fed.
The Fed prefers to watch the show
From many miles away.
No one knows they run the game.
The players have no say.
Near halftime nothing new has come,
The ball hasn't moved an inch.
The crowd gets bored and starts to yell.
Someone starts to build a lynch.
The crowd starts throwing vegetables.
The players leave the field.
As soon as all those guys are gone,
A bomb explodes…low-yield.
The blast takes out some poor folk.
The rich are A-OK
Because the bomb was really planted there
By the good ol' CIA.
There aren't many casualties,
It happened in a blink.
The troops fan out among the crowd,
Arresting those who think.
Everybody in the crowd
Sits down and looks in fear.
No one dares to raise his eyes,
No voices can you hear.
The President comes on the mike.
He phones from Pebble Beach.
He says we caught the terrorists,
They can't escape our reach.
He whips the crowd back into shape,
And all chant, "USA!"
When the players come back out again,
It's like a brand new day.
Now the people love both teams.
They want to see them fight.
The manly Dems and G.O.P.
Drift further toward the right.
The game ends like it started out:
A tie, and no one scores.
The only losers there that day:
We The People, on all fours.