It strange that you should say that today
About illegal aliens
What I think of as pickers of the fruit
Because their everywhere I look at play
With their little Pavlov bell to boot
Even on your own today
But the sound just didn't ring
There was something off on all tones today
That just didn't do a thing
Perhaps I feel the pull of soul
From this weekends thing
It was quite strange you know
He calmed what I would sing
I was pissed about the big resist
After the peoples voice was known
I listened to his own way
And then calmed down my own tone
My rage said revolution for a solution of it's own
To whip up a little fire storm
And make their deceit well know
But then I toned down my own play
And mirrored what was his own
Coz that's what I do and I do it well
I fire off the energy
And depending on the type of fuel
Is what I let fly free
But it has to be quite pure
To let the white light through
And that's not exactly what you want
You want a refinement of the crude
The call girl fantasy
With a little weed thrown in for touch
And the bees are swarming in my scopes
Which means it's time to make a kill
Which is why I can't read the say
Coz for me there is no thrill
I know it's not a game of play
And I don't want to know who they kill
And you still use the twist of yesterday
Which makes me stop and stand quite still