Ballad of a Richman

You are what you think

And you smell that stink

I can tell from the way you

Wrinkled your nose

But you just can’t admit that

It’s coming from you, I suppose

At the counter in the store

Outside the street is littered with poor

And your drop 100 more than you need to

Before you walk out the door

And you say “It’s their fault, what they chose”

And you won’t face the

The truth, I suppose

I see you driving in your car

The one you paid for with blood and tar

And I thank my, my lucky stars

That you are no one I know

It’s safe to say that I

That I hate you, I suppose

They call you liar, butcher, thief

You gave them war when you promised relief

But you say “Hey man, don’t give me grief

I’m the decider, I decide how things go.”

And as far as human misery goes

That is true, I suppose

It’s getting dark out as you’re walking home

Has it ever bothered you, being alone?

Made you regret all that you’ve done?

Or do you rip the petals off of a rose

Because all your money

Buys your happiness, I suppose

All your money buys your happiness

Your face in the newspaper on my step

The man who took too many pills and slept

The one who considered himself perfect

In all his fancy clothes

Well now it’s his fault, what he chose

The truth was too much for him, I suppose