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sick a.m. - witheren lyrics

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“i don’t have pet peeves, i have major psychotic f*cking hatreds, okay?” (george carlin)

a current flows through nerves of copper
my rent’s off to some idyll
with more credit cards than credibility
and i’m up at six a.m. drinking coffee…

staring into sp*ce
a pinup’s *rs*
in my face
beg your pardon ma’am
and god d*mn the t*ss*r
who put you up there
let’s make this clear:

i’m sick of every pr*ck
in the locker room
if i don’t stop the sh*t
maybe i’m part of it

but my colleagues aren’t my comrades
and i’m counting down the days
’til i leave here with expletives
see ya, gobsh*tes on laxatives

guess i’ll never have the nerve
to say what i think you deserve
to hear. sure thing
i can’t see you can’t see
past your posturing

but neither macho stance
or deference
will save your neck
we all finish wrecked
tossed to the trash
shattered glass and flaked ash

while the radio anchor farts the news
he says what he likes
’cause they like what he chooses
to say
writing wrongs and wronging our rights
’til the day

the electrics go down all over town
power cords jump from their walls
the powerful run for their halls
and palaces, flee the masses
doors slammed in our faces

you’ll end your days on a back porch
but not your own, pipe in hand
rather stranded among the scorched
bodies piled before

the last bunker’s fastened hatch
strike your last match
in a smouldering crippled land we once called earth
disease and hunger competing to get you first

- witheren lyrics

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