Politically incorrect

Hey what’s the story, present worry
Walking down the cobbled street
With your briefcase full of misery, looking smug and upbeat
You’ll make another million greenbacks
But you’re still looking sour
And then another million children will be damned in an hour

What do you think you’ll accomplice
With your world domination
You’ve never heard of me, but now for you I’ve got information
Is there a chance that you saw
Behind those gold-rimmed spectacles
Some people grazing afar with haunted eyes and white knuckles

An old man scavenged for scraps
The other day in the alley
But you were comfortably numb in your political rally
What is the view of the world
Upon your ivory tower
I may be small but we’re many, and that translates into power

I’ve got a brother in trauma
And sisters treated like savages
‘cause your peacekeeping brought us radioactive work ravages
Are you happy already
In your gas-guzzling lorry
And your black shiny shoes that mirror my children’s worry

I was born with a deficit
Called a human compassion
Much like your planet-extinguishing, ruthless-glee money passion
Last night I witnessed in horror
A friend, that lost his apartment
Because you royally screwed up in the financial department,

Blow himself up in red flames
For there was nowhere to go
He was forsaken and stranded you damn well guaranteed so
His two kids beggars in tatters
His wife is now turning tricks
‘cause hopes are strangled at last by senseless, dead Wall Street bricks

Hey what’s the story, future worry
Where will your greediness lead us
I shake my little fists in outrage at your worship of Midas
The wells are dry in my village
Resources scant and ephemeral
We’re running low on our dignity, it’s now a precious rare mineral

And tomorrow at the schoolyard
I count faces, there’re four less
They draw their last rasping breath tonight and happily egress
But I’m sure they will not brief you
Of mundane things like those
There’s a party in roof garden, so get your scotch, strike a pose

People die by the millions
And the bloodbath runs deep
But their corpses some day’ll find you and your foothold will slip…
So that’s the story, morning glory
And you’ll see us some day
My best regards to your vermin and, oh yes, fuck you anyway…