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• Artiste: Sole and The Skyrider Band
• Titre: Pissing In The Wind
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And there's a sucker born every few seconds suppling an empty bottle Capital at full throttle pushing us through pot holes It asks nothing, it takes everything With the sword in your stomach it asks "are you hungry"? Is the water free of pesticides and Prozac? Do you want to dance under the watch towers of the RNC, or will you skim the papers And forget those who were tortured In front of a TV, watching fascism in its final throes Their pasty fingers strangle the planet to feed a dragon I know how it feels to feel nothing From drugs I've taken, years they've stolen Half the world still on them And I'm not out to make friends or even a difference Times are changing back and all that's left is aesthetics Make the words count call out the ground beneath your sneakers Sneak through the borders without a visa Bury your money in secret don't loose sleep if you're helpless I'm not pissing in the wind I'm pissing in the pond Get out the pool The chlorine stings my eyes And the middlemen are little men whittlin' my prophets to a pittance When they dinnerin' with other middlemen Holding i-phones to the sky for the modest mouse of the future And I can't afford to pay my taxes or get a taxi from the airport So I admit I come of bitter Cuz life has handed lemons, but I helped to grow those lemons In hopes that I could show those lemmings A million ways to starve to death in third world USA When atlas shrugs we'll chop the trees and build our homes this way I've been dying on my feet since the day I learned to walk A trail of ash is in my wake and on that day I earned that chalk Don't think to hard but don't act too quickly Just cuz everybody's fuckin' me don't mean they out to get me I gave kidneys, they handed kidney stones That's how it goes simply The thankless rule us their tanks encircle us We beg for food or the kids will die in front of us And you know he don't bless us Although the grace of his rays will always blaze us And I don't cool of in that pond, I loose sleep Say music journalism is shallow, but thats too deep You hold a mirror to a junkyard and call it an import In todays economy man, we don't need imports We need real talk y'all pick that low hanging fruit And when the revolutions comes man I'll know who to shoot Fuck a mash up when we crash up I'll know who to blast up You know it's violence when the real record gets passed up The world is dumb, don't you remember in 'Nam? Intelligent songs every time you turned the radio on Those days are gone, so I'm pissing in the wind for Tupac and Biggie, for Pete Seeger and Woody And for the riot police, this urine's for you And for the journalists who act like police, this is for you And for the bands that sing like police, this is for you Your band is a bland vision, but that ain't nothing new