There’s some gaseous god laying down somewhere,
Squeezing out this American dream.
And it plays out for me, night and day,
On my rent-to-own big screen.
And it turned my kids to pagans and it turned my wife to salt.
Then it turned me to third person screaming, “Nothing is his fault.”
We just can’t make it here in my town.
So we buy and we sell it here in my town.
There is but one escape from my town.
It’s the six foot underground.
Well I tried to find religion but religion found me first,
With a Whopper for my Eucharist, some unleaded for my thirst.
As a servant to the market it’s consume or be consumed.
So I spend for God and Country – “I am shopping ergo sum.”
I’ve been working in the plastic mines, trying to dig my way to Hell,
For the fallen gods of silicon (Lord I love that sulfur smell).
It was Christmas in my town this year, next year’s the Fourth of July.
Lighting Roman Candles with the Constitution until the ashes fill the sky.
Now the day before they repossessed my rent-to-own big screen,
I got a visit from the CEO of “The Church of the Bitter Green.”
With the blood of budding genius dripping down his florid chin;
He said, “I’m gonna teach y’all how to fish my friends,”
And he said it with his daddy’s grin.
Listen to “My Town” at the Marques Bovre Music Hub.
© and ℗ 2003 Marques Bovre