Primal Ruminations
The Haves and the Have Mores
You don't fool me; I've got your number,
You might have most of us deep in slumber,
But there are some of us out in this nation,
Whose collective mind has solved the equation
That money doesn't trickle down from your high elevation,
You keep it to yourselves and your closest relation
To you we are just slaves on your country club plantation
You want us to climb up to your inner circle
Where you explain to us that red is really just purple
You throw us a bone when we perform a trick
Then dangle a small carrot on a very long stick
And ask us to dance to a tune that you pick
You cook up the facts and spin them with rhetoric
And threaten our lives with your weapons metallic
The glory of war you plant in our mind
As it grows and blooms we use any excuse we can find
To hack up our brothers and reduce their homes to splinters
And create realms of horror and anguish like surrealistic painters
With every brush stroke a motherless child cries and whimpers
When war is at hand there is no room for descenters
And you better not interfere with the business of the one percenters
You know those guys, who live up on Knob Hill,
It's to please them that makes you want to kill,
They depict themselves as pinnacles of righteousness,
Defending “our way of life”-- as if we have anything to do with this mess,
Declaring “the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”,
To unlimited ends for themselves at the expense of the rest of us,
Yet somehow, convince you to that what you have is more and what they've got is less
Its all so confusing – it's called double speak,
They get you coming and going and even while you sleep,
You dream you were one of them up on their high horse,
A private jet-plane with seductive women and your homeys, of course,
With money to burn and a sprawling empire at its source,
Then you realize to be the elite it would take supernormal force,
And you'd have to deny others what you have without remorse
In fact, to be this wealthy the rest of us must struggle,
Some might starve with lack of money -- the root of their trouble,
‘Cause you've got it all to yourself with your sisters and brothers,
With your royal bloodlines, secret societies and queen mothers,
It's the lord of the earth and all of his pleasures,
That you pay your allegiance and mind all his measures,
So you can have to yourself what you won't give to others
Hatred is fostered by selfish behavior,
You live like Gods while you tell us we should wait for our savior,
A few of you have more wealth than many a small country,
While the rest of us suffer, for you it's just a game of monopoly
Where you buy up free land with money that's phony,
And charge us rent demanding our hard-earned currency
Life's a game for you if you're part of the aristocracy
You strive hard to make us believe you are helping out others
Yet you live in this fear that you'll blow all your covers
So you set up your think tanks to create some condition
Then through your channels you send out this petition,
There is someone out there whose plannin' and wishin'
To upset this fine balance and castigate us into perdition,
Then you fill our minds with fear and beat us down with attrition
We can unite in anger at this hypothetical demon
Laugh about how we'll send em' squirmin' and squeamin'
And call for arms as we rally around our leader,
Who's just the mouthpiece for those, whose lives are much sweeter,
We're plowed into fertile ground by the farmer's massive seeder,
So put out your flag ‘cause you know yer gonna need her,
To protect all we've got we've have to pay for the meter
You know the world out there is just one big gripe and groan,
They're all just jealous of what we have here at home
If they'd all just line up behind us they could thrive in our wake
And if they don't have any bread then let them eat cake
Life's chains are not something that you can break
They're there for your own good – security is at stake,
So just give it all up for the Cult of the Snake
If you find what I'm saying to be confounded
You still feel alone and they've got you surrounded
There's more of us than there are of them in this here pasture,
To sit there, do nothing - just wait for the rapture,
And slowly get sick and old while you eat their manure,
Or stand up and take a position much truer,
And fight for your rights and a sky that's much bluer
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The Haves and the Have Mores
The Haves and the Have Mores
