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He said drink deeply of the wine, my friend, breathe fully in the smoke |
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and eat the fish that he conjured, this is the bread that jesus broke |
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this is grape juice and cheap vodka, man, this isn't even wine |
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i'm smokin shredded cardboard, eating sawdust baked with lime |
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this is not the truth you tell me, but some terrible, evil joke |
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sounds to me like the counterfeit blues have got you by the throat |
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there seem to me an awful lot of charltans round here |
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and hustlers, cheats and anglers, fixers, sharps and mutineers |
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the factory and subterfuge and corporato cheat |
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conspire to fast reduce us to the stamping of our feet |
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the lords of mass producto mass product at quite a pace |
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it won't be long these counterfeit blues'll run the whole damn place |
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these notes that you've been paying with are a little bit too green |
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the printing's off, the ink has got a polyester sheen |
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your bill has grown too large and now you'll have to work it off |
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and your snout will have to make its way from the far end of the trough |
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you got suckered into tryin to make your make your money overnight |
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looks to me like the counterfeit blues will be doggin you all of your life |
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the worn out western hat i got no longer smells like horse |
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and i can't afford to keep one around now that rooster's gone, of course |
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i guess i've left it all behind me now except for when i write |
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and sing ancestral praises of the ones who knew that life |
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yes, years of rocka rolla have extracted quite a fee |
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maybe them old counterfeit blues have been creepin up on me |
