Yet another song that applies more today when I made it in the first place. It's from the album I did with D.O.A.; it's called Full Metal Jackoff. It's dedicated to King George the Second, already crowned our next leader. Just like they do in China or the old Soviet Union, the message being, "He's got the money, he's got our backing, so why don't you just shut up, rent a video, and don't vote."
Around our nation's capital
There's a freeway eight lanes wide
White concrete ringed around the city
For those who want inside
Get on, get off
Ignore everything to the side
In your midst I drive
While homeboys in the back of the van make drugs
Wanna hide something like a crack lab?
Just put it in plain sight
Only stop to refuel and unload
More poison to tear more lives apart
Whole neighbourhoods goin' psycho
Gang wars like never before
Better lock your doors, buy some guns
And pray for martial law
On the Washington, D.C. Beltway
Around and around I go
In a black van with no windows
And a chimney puffing smoke
Bloody headlines in the news each day
Drug "crisis" everywhere
So much comes in so easily
It's as though someone wants it there
It would be a little obvious
To fence off all the slums
Hand out machine guns to the poor in the projects
And watch 'em kill each other off
A more subtle genocide's when the only hope for the young
Is to join the Army or slowly die
Wall Street or Crack Dealer Avenue
The last roads left in the American Dream
Wall Street or Crack Dealer Avenue
Wall Street or Crack Dealer Avenue
Only one road leads to this neighbourhood
Little kids wanna sell drugs when they grow up
The folks just might get a little upset
If they knew where that dope comes from
From Colombia to the Contras
To an airport in Mena, Arkansas
Guess who was governor then?
Clinton blocked investigations
But now that we own the media too
The stories just aren't run
On the Washington, D.C. Beltway
Around and around I go
In a black van with no windows
And a chimney puffing smoke
The same gang that ran smack in Vietnam
Ain't got no reason to fear
Just give George Bush a yuppie face
Bill and Al are here
That sure was easy, wasn't it?
That sure was easy, wasn't it?
More crack, more panic, more cops, more jails
You see emergency, total war
You see emergency, total war
You see a black face, you see a crackhead
You see a black face, you see a crackhead
You see a black face, you see Willie Horton with a knife
You see Willie Horton with a knife
You've seen one Willie Horton, you've seen 'em all
They're everywhere, I know
You asked for it - you've got it
Drug suspects have no rights at all
Property seized and sold before trial
Labour camps on American soil
Neo-Nazi bootboys
That the cops never seem to arrest
Prowl neighborhoods with baseball bats
Why do they get so much press?
Mein Kampf the miniseries
George Bush II, "patriotic" hero
The leader of tomorrow is yours today
Finally gotcha psyched for a police state
On the Washington, D.C. Beltway
Around and around I go
In a black van with no windows
And a chimney puffing smoke
My van's a mobile oven now
That burns the bodies you never see
Just like in Chile and Guatemala
People just seem to disappear
Just like Rome
We fell asleep when we got spoiled
Ignore human rights in the rest of the world
Ya might as well lose your own
As the noose of narco-militarism
Tightens 'round our necks
We worry about impeachment
And pee in jars at work to keep our jobs
But if someone came for you one night
And dragged you away
Do you really think your neighbours
Would even care?
Do you really think your neighbours
Would even care?
Embrace the W.T.O. (x12)
No, no W.T.O. (x9001)