And after all these years
My collar's bluer than my blood
Hopes high on nicotine
While waiting for the promised flood
Society's credentials: fist or paper, vice and sins
Well Mr. C's got nothing in his pocket
His pretty green ain't green
And after all these years
Liars seem to prosper fine
We all just run in circles
Avoiding unemployment lines
So many right wing meetings chew us up and grind us down
Poor Mr. C.'s got nothing in his pocket
His pretty green gone brown
Too many leaders are wrong
Nowhere for us to belong
Rifle in hand while my dear old mother
Is staring daggers
And still after all these years
Going nowhere empty hands
Rat racing far and near
But will we ever take a stand?
My blue collar is bleeding disbelief, my breath is thin
I'm Mr. C. got nothing in my pocket
My pretty green ain't green
Too many leaders are wrong
Nowhere for us to belong
Rifle in hand while my dear old mother's
Attending pistols at dawn
Too many leaders are wrong
Nowhere for us to belong
Rifle in hand while my dear old mother
Is staring daggers and gone