Lyrics

Johnny Hobson was a good man He used to loan me books and mic stands He even got me a subscription To the Socialist ReviewListening to records in his basement Old folk songs about the government It's love of money not the market He said these fuckers push on youAnd freedom yells, it don't cry Whatever selves will decide But there's no hell when you die So don't look so worriedHe got a night life, lost his day job Pushing papers, swinging pendulums Anything to serve the function Or to occupy some timeYou gotta earn this living somehow You're good as dead without a bank account But it's funny how that life has felt down In that unemployment lineWith all that trash at his feet The pools of piss in the street All of that filthy empathy For the way we're feelingDon't worry Don't worry Don't worryThe billboards shade The flags they wave The anthem's playing loud The baseball game was letting outAnd all at once You saw the dust and hurt And turned the sound Got in his truck and turned aroundDrove out through the crowd and the cops Drove out past that center mall Drove out past that sickening sprawl Out past that fenced in goldAnd maybe he lost control Fucking with the radio But I bet the stars seem so close At the endAt the end At the end At the end ...