Sick’nin’ outside, their heads nearly hollow…
been asleep, one and all?
One by one, like hypnotized sheep, they follow.
Time to sweep out there with signs; bawl and squall, maybe brawl.

Go to a place, crammed close in the city;
they don’t like the gov’s call.
Like lemmings that rush to cliffs: no time for pity.
These thoughtless followers are in their cult leader’s thrall.

Sheltered and frightened, they’re lonely;
if they stay home, they can’t moan and drone…
might soon be ghostly.
For them the truth’s just too hard to swallow,
being in thrall and all.

He knows what's right: a “miracle” will follow:
Everyone’s gonna be rich, the numbers are gonna fall.

“Liberate! Liberate!”
Cramp, get stooge crew sick.
“Liberate! Liberate!”
Cramped, get a slew sick.
“Liberate! Liberate!”
Family, too, sick?
“Liberate! Liberate!”
Scam orange-hue dick.
Cerebrate, cerebrate?
That ain’t this crew’s shtik!