Lyrics

He was sick and tired of always being the odd one out In a place where the mean street cars were littered with fallout Of the American Money, coupled with native misgivings Of the future of cities, where he was inclined to agree with Millions of unemployed policemen, all over the eastern world Will lose their powers of persuasion, and it seems such a waste And no amount of retraining in the socially-useful will make up For that killer instinct new nations value so greatly And I want to thank you, I want to thank you, for letting me be yourself again There's few things you can't buy without American Money here Just give me one good reason, please give me one good reason, why I shouldn't be myself again There's some things you can't buy without American Money here It shits on your dreams daily, barely makes up for the handouts