Streets of Plenty

03:53
Mike Rufo

Lyrics

Lookin' down the streets of plenty, I see a haggard boy.
He ain't had much to eat now, he got no bed to sleep in.
Why come this class division, all our souls be idlin' in remission.
Pretend we just don't see it, pretend we really don't feel it.
While our taxes feed a war machine,

Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Taxes feed a war machine.

Just give me one stealth bomber, just give me my very own drone.
I don't want very much now, just a little tank for my belly.
I don't want very much now, just a little shield for my head.
I don't want very much now, just a little love instead.

But no our taxes feed a war machine, fifty-one percent.
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine, fifty-one percent.
Our taxes feed a war machine.

Do you think I like it this way, do you think I chose my fate?
I try to use my bootstraps, but they get so thin they break.
Come on you great big spenders, send some software my way, my way.
Lookin' down the streets of plenty, I see a callus nation.

While our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine,
Our taxes feed a war machine.

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