Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hey Bobby, artist - Sage Francis. Album song Still Sickly Business, in the genre Альтернатива
Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Record label: Strange Famous
Song language: English
Hey Bobby |
By the time the flags rotted off of their antennas |
they were questioning who the real threat is Big Brotherly love is the 21rst Century’s plague |
no matter how bloody the glove, question evidence displayed |
Don’t forget what two plus two equals |
Don’t let them upgrade your math no matter what they have as proof of evil |
Remember when they went after the Jewish people? |
You don’t recognize that same black mask as see through? |
Attack of the eagles. |
If they don’t fall dead |
before they reach me, I’ll be damned if I don’t shoot one in its bald head |
Fuck what we’re force fed. |
All I ever wanted |
was a warm bed and a house that wasn’t haunted |
I’d rather die for a cause than to die just because |
we exhaust natural resources forced into wars |
restoring wasteful ways, keeping other countries poor |
Monkey see, Monkey do I wonder what those fucking monkeys saw |
Keep rethinking the still-frames in your mind |
and guarantee they will change with time |
Your outline is pixelated with poor resolution while |
downtime is simply wasted. |
You were born execution style |
Head first in a trial. |
I’ll second the motion |
'Til the jury’s bored to death and puts your neck in a notion |
The situation’s volatile. |
A naked problem child |
is trying to find the right clown costume to make his father smile |
So he bombs while he tries to tell jokes |
This ain’t a false alarm, can’t you smell the smoke? |
You’re in the line of fire where they buy and sell votes |
Our sense of liberty doesn’t ring true, stupid, that’s why the bell broke |
Trench coat Mafiosos propel rocks |
at recruitment officers and rebel against cops |
'Til they hurdle infinite circles in small cell blocks |
Turtle upon turtle 'til they’re all shell shocked |
This so-called president got elected in a court room |
With the war efforts of pops he inherited a fortune |
We talk, talk, talk… so the veterans of war assume |
the revolution stopped. |
This ain’t a protest tune |
Hey, Bobby… the Masters are back. |
They’re up to no good just like the old days |
They played dead when you stood over their grave, Bobby. |
They played dead when |
you stood over their grave |
Hey, Bobby… them bastards are back. |
It’s our turn to stand over their grave |
I’m a do it right this time… I'm awake… I'm a wait until their fuckin’skin |
decays. |
You can’t roam a lost land as the last existing dinosaur |
There’s no escaping ass kickings in these times of war |
replacing apples with hospitals… where doctors are hostile |
Killing two pterodactyls with one fossil |
I got you. |
If they don’t fall dead |
Before they reach me, I’ll be damned if I don’t shoot one in it’s bald head |
Fuck what we’re force fed. |
All I ever wanted |
Was a warm bed… and house that wasn’t haunted |
Thumb through novels to have your fingerprints match |
The description of criminals committing innocent acts |
of compassion for tired civilians crawling with pistols |
While we fire million dollar warning missals |
Force the issues in the back of your head where eyes roll |
Brain wash yourself out of that mind control |
Or act a fool like you’re told |
But we won’t see no type of justice 'til that bitch removes the blindfold |
This ain’t a Love it or leave it, it’s a Change it or lose it. |
I’ll never sing the anthem of a nation who never faces the music |
Chasing an ever-elusive caveman |
in space ships that makes trips to the futures that are name-brand |
Faking progress… but we ain’t advanced |
Enough to change the posture of our ape stance? |
They’ve got the key to the city but they prefer the break-in entry |
Duck and weave, I’m shedding light in their shadow box to make it empty |
Hey, Bobby… the Masters are back. |
They’re up to no good just like the old days |
They played dead when you stood over their grave, Bobby. |
They played dead when |
you stood over their grave |
Hey, Bobby… them bastards are back. |
It’s our turn to stand over their grave |
I’m a do it right this time… I'm awake… I'm a wait until their fuckin’skin |
decays. |
Attack of the eagles. |
If they don’t fall dead |
Before they reach me, I’ll be damned if I don’t shoot one in its bald head |
Fuck what we’re force fed. |
All I ever wanted |
was a warm bed. |
There’s nothing scarier than the human stories I tell ghosts |
Chilling accounts with my tongue frozen to bed posts |
The catharses of carcasses whenever threats are close |
Shows a heartlessness that doesn’t register on stethoscopes |
Sell your hopes for a homeland security chart |
'Til your sense of self is broke and no man’s pure in the heart |
Preventive detention for the folks who never left home |
Tensions have grown into a 24/7 red zone |
Scare tactics… have got you under control |
The fear factors of a color code. |
The uppers know |
They can’t hold you down without having anchors attached |
It’s all the same. |
Nah, balls and chains on ankles don’t match |
So drag your torso back to the off road |
We may have lost the fashion battle but we ain’t lost the wardrobe |
Go window shopping for your next free meal |
Cuz when we start the revolution all you’ll probably do is steal |
Hey, Bobby… the Masters are back. |
They’re up to no good just like the old days |
They played dead when you stood over their grave, Bobby. |
They played dead when |
you stood over their grave |
Hey, Bobby… them bastards are back. |
It’s our turn to stand over their grave |
I’m a do it right this time… I'm awake… I'm a wait until their fucking skin |
decays. |