The box has been locked for fourteen years,
and you wonder why the funds are drying.
After this blessed bit of fun
there will be no way of plausibly denying,
WAMC, ninety point three, on the FM dial,
your listeners are good and decent,
generous and tuned right in.
I tell you friends and countrymen,
now is the time for the test to begin.
Make these speakers earn their money,
demand that they finally speak the truth.
This burden belongs to our generation,
not to anybody else,
and certainly not to the youth.
Just think of all the clever phrases
that we can make them say on air.
9/11 was a big, ugly lie.
We may want to start it there.
Remind them of good old number seven,
exercise or building. From the heart
or by the science, the Lie we will be killing,
and courage, it will find you,
and shine from out your breast.
Just do your job, give what you can,
and God will do the rest.
You can tell them I’m a good man,
or tell them I’m a shit.
You need not spell my name for them,
as they are long-acquainted with it.
The pigs will also call the line,
all squealing holy hell,
fear and war and blood and death, in
one final and feeble attempt to quell
the rising of this quiet anthem,
but their voices are just voices.
Where you stand in this big old world,
you have so very many choices.
Keep ’em clean, and keep ’em funny,
keep ’em coming, and send some money.
Just as I have my job,
you have yours to do.