A fist full of dollars and old tab collars running through my head.
An old tennis racquet, a brown suede jacket on the edge of my bed.
There are thoughts of revolution and hot air pollution blowing through my window.
This cannot be my life's crescendo.
Political leaders and parking meters seem to be
The instruments of the government to suppress the free
That's you and me baby, maybe I think they be watching me.
This cannot be my life's crescendo.
People hurry, the working class scurry around the streets
There are botox committees, fake plastic titties and bus-bombings.
All of our political leaders say 'Fuck the Al Quaeda' and we all agree
This cannot be my life's crescendo.
Well, you might like to drink your coffee cold
That's alright but you've been sold and now, baby, you've been told.
Take my hand we'll join the band as it shuffles on past our window
Hold tight this just might be my life's crescendo.
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