VOL. 1

pinkslip in her purse, pink panties on feet--mom sells her ass, to buy babies meat.
when belts tighten up and it's hard to pay bills, we sell off our children to farms in the hills.
to keep ethics low and prices less high, X Mart takes its staff to the dumpsters to die.
gas guzzles dollars and trucks guzzle gas, so the makers of trucks are all out on their ass.
they're drinking away the economy spook as they pass out in puddles of piss and of puke.

VOL. 2

profits erode. brokers soak in their fear. commissions and yachts and cocaine disappear.
cops pat you down--for profit and fun--tickling your tonsils with muzzles on guns.
they came for your pension. they came for your home. to keep your gold teeth, they must be overthrown!
the safety-net's tattered as folks hit maturity. social security. healthcare. obscurity.
nothing says home like a flag on the wall, that proves your kid died in fallujah last fall.

VOL.3

MacD's dollar menu--nutritional crack--gives the poor diabetes and grease heart attacks.
debt, like america, gets good and fat til americans take out their debt-deading bats.
this country needs jobs. it needs new things to do. it needs science and math and the artsy stuff too.
bring plaster quick, cos we're down to the brick and the roaches and rats are all starting to kick.
the walls see it all and they flinch not a bit--the heartache, the cheesecake and fascism shit. they keep it all in til you fill them with holes and you burn all the trash and you drown all the trolls.