Give Me Back My Sandwich by Five Iron Frenzy
Up from the sands of the mighty Sahara comes,
Our hero bold, who so it's told,
is a lot like you and me.
His passion burns, the world it turns,
He fills his hand to fill the void,
And fuels the constant feeling,
Of nothingness inside his soul.
Feels like nothing ever did.
Kills like nothing ever could.
Dark and jaded world I hated,
Everything I left behind.
I don't need you, and I don't want you,
World that left me blind.
Beneath the sands of the mighty Sahara lies,
Buried treasure sunken deep,
in darkened tombs where dead men sleep.
Gold fills hands, or is it sand,
The same that covers everything?
Where cities stood, soon deserts found,
Now sink beneath the swelling ground.
Feels like nothing ever did.
Kills like nothing ever could.
Dark and jaded world I hated,
Everything I left behind.
I don't need you, and I don't want you,
World that left me blind.
This world is for the taking,
This world is suffocating.
Plastic bags of novacain,
Some PCP to kill the pain.
Build a tomb to store your rust,
Moth-eaten piles of blowing dust.
Under the sands of the mighty Sahara,
Goes our hero bold, in seach of gold,
a casket for a dying world.
Our hero stands, wealth in hand,
The prize for his endeavors.
The masses cheer, to hide their fears
That no man lives forever.
Feels like nothing ever did.
Kills like nothing ever could.
Dark and jaded world I hated,
Everything I left behind.
I don't need you, and I don't want you,
World that left me blind.
4 kids in Memphis,
should pay me 5 dollars.
I wrote this song and they said they would pay me,
and I want to buy a hot dog.
What could this be, too much MTV?
Chalk another fad up for its fall into infamy.
What's in a standard if it changes all the time?
You're still having trouble in defining your own kind.
Need I remind you, we all knew you before,
you threw the rocks at the stage from your glass house on the floor?
Now I think you're punk, just because it's in.
You found a foul mouth and a couple safety pins.
Got a peaceful feeling,
I don't want to fight no more.
Got a peaceful feeling,
I don't care if we're punk, or ska, or hardcore,
enough for you, it's sad but true,
you can call us names till your face turns blue.
Our assurance comes from God,
it's nothing new,
we'll never care 'cause we're never cool enough for you.
That smug look on your face,
your nose up in the air,
your patches say you're open-minded,
but still you couldn't bear,
some punk thrown in with ska.
You said it wouldn't work.
Well you can take your Vespa home 'cause ska made you a jerk.
The purist turns a deaf ear.
He's such an intellect,
Does he think his censorship is gaining our respect?
The raising of a fist, like a trigger of a gun.
Stop and see we're all alike, and we can dance as one.
I walked into the room, and she was right there waiting.
Leaning up against the bar,
well she was perpertraitin'.
Slick as snot her spandex,
and blacker than some coal,
she set her gaze upon my bootie,
with disco in her soul.
So much for indecision,
so quick did she decide,
the temptress with her doors open inviting me inside.
"I want to take you home with me",
said the sparkle in her eye.
"I would like to honey, but I'm about to die."
I have got a time bomb,
I strapped it to my chest.
When it blows I'm out of here,
you can have what's left.
The room got kind of quiet,
and you could smell the fear.
I only heard the jukebox play "A Tear is in My Beer".
"So what's the verdict Mister?
When's it gonna blow?"
I just winked at her and said,
"Darlin' I don't know."
Time-bomb tickin' in the room,
everybody goes someday,
blows so quick you better be,
somewhere where it's safe.
Thin skinned thread-bare thinkin',
now you're gonna die,
don't try to rock the jukebox,
just kiss this world good-bye.
What's the deal, don't you feel,
alone now in the silence?
Pushing up the daisies now,
there's better ways for you to diet.
Seeking after sucker wealth,
suckers feel what suckers dealt,
All your life you stuffed your face,
now you're dead I rest my case.
Got a story here to tell,
so you better listen well.
some old lady in a church,
got a nickel in her purse.
You were rich, she was poor.
You dropped some fifties on the floor.
She dropped her nickel with a clank,
she was thinkin' Third World Think Tank.
The Karaoke master,
the drunkard,
and the jerk,
ditch this sorry world and all its worth.
Keep your candle burning,
waiting for the time,
ready to explode,
the bomb is primed.
Up until the middle of the 20th century,
many Americans believed in the idea known as the "Manifest Destiny."
|
