ah yes the workin’ man
sows his fortunes by the muscle in his hand
never says nothin’ just workin’ his land
bound sometimes to go a little crazy
the seventeen sixties pontiac ruled
scary out there in the deep detroit forest
try cutting down trees to hide behind
but there you will stay
many are coming to take the land
a sea of european nasties
and the cream of the mean crop
the hard workin’ Paxton Boys
The Paxton Boys were the workin’ men
who’d finally had enough of them indians
they’d black up their faces and roam all around
looking for anything remotely true american
villages servants traders women and children
slaughtered and burned to the ground
soon all the good folk had joined up
and they marched on the legislature
‘Put the Savages in the Ground
For the Best Sweet Corn Around’
but Ben Franklin Himself stood in their way and told them
go home now and we’ll forget about the hundreds of murders
and so they all did, glory be
for a little while
God Bless The Good-Hearted
Common-Sensed
Hard Workin’
Bullet-Headed
Jerry Springer-Watchin
George W. Bush Lovin’
Gentle Servants of Evil
That Are So Many Of The People Of
This Great Nation Of Ours.
Amen.
The Paxton Boys, copyright 2002.
All Rights Reserved.
Git Me A Budweiser.
Fuck You.