Well, we're looking at the cover, spending all our time 

Just staring at the magazine 

Well, look who's on the cover wasting all our time 

Some psuedo-fascist hero machine 

Well, that's no space for a human being 

That man is not a hero or saint 

When somewhere in deepest America 

Grown men weep at the sound of his name 

So it goes... 



All the girls named Gloria 

Sing sweetly out of key 

The sun rose in the west today 

Accidents in the land of the free 



Well I grew up where they showed you the body count 

In color on the dinner TV 

And I've been numbed so insensitive 

That all I can think about is you and me 

Children from the best homes they all have guns and butter 

They have their share of murder blue 

Well it's not such a wiggy-awesome-good-time 

When a shopping mall milita point their cannons at you 

So it goes.... 



Everyone believes in the stories 'bout the Cadillacs 

Everybody's got enough to eat 

And people always keep their eyes glued to the ground 

When a desperate man, he's gotta cling to the street 

And I swear to myself I will help them 

I will be an upstanding man 

But when I walk by and I hear them cry 

That money just sticks to my hand 

What's wrong with me!