Prisoner’s cinema The Dead Milkmen

(blow winds blow, together we shall go
For to sin, no more on this troubled shore)

No one writes songs about the poor anymore
Which is really a shame we could use a couple more
Cuz we're tired of hearing about limos and jets
$200 ties, and million dollar pets

So let's raise a glass to the salt of the earth
Not that ass, in first class, enjoying the perks
Some praise for the maids who cleaned up the rooms
After they were trashed by The Naked Moon

Or the guy that fixed the TV that Elvis shot
The nanny who watched his kids, while McCarthy scored pot
The stage hand who put out the guitar that Hendrix set on fire
In the swamps of Jersey, someone changed Springsteen's tires

Let this be the start of our revolution
Let this be the day that we take it all back
Let the writing on the wall be our manifesto
Let this be the day we go on the attack

They call it "the prisoner's cinema"
These films that you see in your mind
When after ten hours in a cubicle
It's just part of the daily grind