[JOE: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car)] Maybe you thought I was the Packard Goose Or the Ronald MacDonald of the nouveau-abstruse Well fuck all them people, I don’t need no excuse For being what I am Do you hear me, then? All them rock n roll writers is the worst kind of sleaze Selling punk like some new kind ol English disease Is that the wave of the future? Aw, spare me please!
Oh no, you gotta go Who do you write for? I wan u a know I believe you is the governments whore And keeping peoples dumb is where you’re C’oming from And keeping peoples dumb is where you’re coming from Fuck all them writers with the pen in their hand I will be more specific so they might understand They can all kiss my ass But because its so grand They best just stay away