Good Times

There's a man at ten

who couldn't make a three.

He's got blood on his hands

and blood on his sheets.

He know's what's good

for you and me.

His hands are washed

but never clean.

Good times

never been so bad.

Of rich men's things

poor men dream,

but greed is a prison

you never break free.

There's a hole in my sky

and shit in my sea,

the earth is bleeding,

beneath my feet.

Good times

never been so bad.

You fire your arrows,

you don't care where they land.

Turn my world

to dust and sand.

Where's the captain,

where's his band

of cut throat thugs

we want them hanged.

Truth and justice

all wrapped up in rag,

the jokes on us

we've all been had.

Good times

never been so bad.