a Rust Belt lament.
THE BOTTOM OF A WORKINGMAN'S BEER
well, i know who's president
but i don't know anyone who voted for him
can't empty this glass
it keeps filling up with all of my problems
video street fight
constant "boing bing" in the background
and there's a jar of purple eggs on the bar
oh, i begs to be so embalmed
c'mon Oracle...answer my questions
read the bubbles, which way is heaven?
from the bottom of a working man's beer?
the city of industry
sneered down its stacks at my muscles
like i was something to sweat,
just a truck, just a can for commercials
i told em, i told em,
you can't run this thing on just dazzle...
it sank like a tank in the mud
it was a comedy special
c'mon...join the expedition
see the ruins of a lost civilization...
at the bottom of a working man's beer
c'mon...join the migration
we're going south, everybody's sinking...
to the bottom of a working man's beer
and it's cold and dark down here...
where your butt's in a sling, your nuts are in a vice
and those "pull yourself up" bootstraps are dungeon tight
how do you tell your kid that his old man's
been jerked around by an Invisible Hand?
the guys in the ties say "sir, we're doing all we can"
but tell me, Mr. Oracle, can i pay ya with food stamps?
i know who's president
...like it really matters?
he ain't wearing this belt...
the one that keeps gettin' tighter and tighter
i was weaned on the dream
that the fat of the land had no limit
yeah...my lap's gotten fat
but nothing good's gonna drop in it...
c'mon...join the inquisition
buried alive at the Cafe Masoleum!
it's me! it's me!
at the bottom of a working man's beer.
yeah...i know who's president...you bet.
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