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From the dumpster to the grave |
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We'll never be a system slave |
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We'll take our food from garbage cans |
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While they're starving in a foreign land |
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Do the dishes in the sink |
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Scoop the grease-trap, take a drink |
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Clean plate club keeps us alive |
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Every time we dumpster dive |
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And from the dumpster to the grave |
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We'll eat your trash and misbehave |
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We all wallow in loneliness |
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Then wonder why we're so depressed |
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Digging through your toxic waste |
|
We find the crumbs to suit our taste |
|
Our guts are an abysmal cave |
|
From the dumpster to the fucking grave |
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From the cradle to the end |
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The pigeons are our closest friends |
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We'll forage always after dark |
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Then chill with squirrels down in the park |
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From the dumpster to the stench |
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Fine dining on a city bench |
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With gourmet finds it must be true |
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That america is paved with food |
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And in the gutter where we lay |
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No health care, not a dollars pay |
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We'll take our food from garbage cans |
|
While they're starving in a foreign land |
|
Starving in a foreign land [x2] |
|
Starving in a foreign |
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So from the dumpster to the grave |
|
We'll never shower, sometimes shave |
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We never fucking wash our clothes |
|
All stinking drunk at punk rock shows |
|
Digging through your toxic waste |
|
We find the crumbs to suit our taste |
|
Our guts are an abysmal cave |
|
From the dumpster to the fucking grave |
|
And from the dumpster to the grave |
|
We'll eat your trash and misbehave |
|
We all wallow in loneliness |
|
Then wonder why we're so depressed |
|
Digging through your toxic waste |
|
We find the crumbs to suit our taste |
|
Our guts are an abysmal cave |
|
From the dumpster to the fucking grave |
|
To the fucking grave |
|
To the fucking grave |
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To the fucking, to the fucking, to the fucking grave, fuck you! |
