On every highway
in every town
I can see those golden arches—
they scowl down at me
from their metal-pole perch.
are the perfect symbol
of American culture—
we want it fast, cheap, and greasy.
drive by it sometimes
to see who is in line—
whose parents are almost ready to sue for their own incompetence.
let's go down to the drive-thru,
say hi to the 16-year-old fastfood slave:
"Scuse me, I'll have chicken mcnuggets and a big mac
with a side order of heart disease.
(they never think it's funny)
each bite I can taste
I hate it yet I keep paying for it,
and I can't get away;
I drive and drive
but the arches follow me like the horizon.