The American Dream

Can you feel it?
Dads lost his job, but couldn’t tell,
Moving from the suburb’s, to the urban hell.

Sell your Cadillac, for a bucket of rust,
It’s the American dream, in witch we trust.
Under worked and over played, can’t keep the life style,
And then you lose out.

This happy photo, so what do you know?
Mom works, and Daddy’s a dose,
And the kids Cruz the mall, for action.

In this seedy motel, on this seedy road,
Like a battery farm, or refugee camp.
So little kids hold your mothers arm,
Shower with the gas pill,
Take your self out.

The cally dream state, a disturbing lie,
Full of down and dispossessed,
Arny watch the poor die.

The new job is no job, worse than pumping gas,
From East LA to Compton, pray for armoured car.

Looks like this trailer, has found some new trash,
No grass just tumble weed, you look like a John Wane,
Who’s on his way out.

Drive thrues and drive by’s, wood stock doesn’t exist,
Pot replaced by Acid, kid’s always grow up pissed,
No longer protect their, sacred home land.

©02 July 2009