The Loser-Commie Blues

I got the loser-commie blues

yeah, I got the commie-loser blues

from the top of my non-nationalistic dictator’s cap down

to the tips of my steel-toed shoes.

I dress in ratty clothing

I shelved my classy suit

I’m full of righteous loathing

money is the root.

I’m a privileged proletariat

with a computer my daddy bought for me

and a sense of gallows humor

the cops beat into me.

Bucket torture in another life

carries over to present strife.

I got the loser-commie blues

cause I watch too much news

and I fell for the ruse in polemic hues.

They parted the godless paranoid seculars

from the god-fearing spiritual monopolist regulars.

Their theory includes a supreme being

who’s very rarely seen

and they respect the boss man who runs the cruel world with an iron fist –

whose existence is so peripherally obvious, how could he’ve been missed?

I must have ignored the signs

closed the blinds

while writing my manifesto –

movement four: Finale presto.

I had a choice between philosophies

it came down to one scale.

Left was cowardice, right was greed.

I knew what both sides would entail.

I decided to become a loser-commie

a pussy-boy liberal – well, that’s what they called me.

Between greed and cowardice

thought I was powerless.

It was my destiny and duty

to choose the loser-ideology

the one rich with irony

and ripe with double-meaning

from the latest cultural gleaning.

It’s the ideology for losers

and the losing ideology

and in this land of plenty

the losers are the minority.

I still follow the WTO

wherever they go

playing in the freakshow –

just an act, don’t you know?

And Mao was a jerk

and Soloth Sar went berserk

and Communism doesn’t work

cause it’s not employed

just a drunken theory

some educated Jew scribbled while pissed.

Unimplemented, that’s the God’s honest truth.

The Queen’s English.

The Alien’s Logic.

Firesign’s spoof.

The grad city

named after me –

I’m honored.

The monument to the idle poor –

I’m sure.

The poor idol that is

thrown out of the modeling biz

I can’t even rant on behalf

of my fellow commie riff-raff.

Marx was the artist – no statesman wannabe.

Lenin the producer – sold the product to a country.

Stalin the abuser – purged twenty million bad commies.

And I’m the modern loser – deluded soul actually.

And we have the wise-ass critics

the self-appointed cynics

congregating in capitalist utopia

the owner’s paradise

dispensing with advice

the world isn’t nice

the paradox is spice to season tasty hypocrisy

the dream of reality

the price of reality

the business end of things, the real deal

virtually.

I got the loser-commie blues

yeah, the loser-commie blues.

This should be an anthem for the forcefully confused.

Ah, but whatcha gonna do?

whatcha gonna do?

I’ll be a loser-commie till the bitter fuckin’ end

and it is bitter.

It’s my just desert

and it’s just desert

at the end of the meal of life

the cyclic journey of negative entropy where Nietzsche possesses my body in the penultimate act, that poor, suffering, stoic, heroic oberman incarnate with syphilitic insanity, unjustly labeled proto-nazi, and me with AIDS from God in the final act of my tragedy and transition to another hellish life in an even lower circle of Dante’s Hell which is, really, political philosophy yet no form of reality.

Saddled with an eternal baggage of bad karma I’m doomed to try and convert the masses like a Jehovah’s witness accepting the oblivion that awaits him on the other side of that big suburban door in the sky.

No solicitors.

I got the loser-commie blues

cause I never paid my dues

and I can’t blame the Government

and I can’t blame the Christians

and I can’t blame Myself

and I demand compensation

for my current situation

as a public nuisance

a private disgrace

incidentally a headcase

like you didn’t know.

I’ll launch a nuisance lawsuit

sue the pants off that public

become the parasite I was destined to be.

I can plead ignorance

when they drag me into court

and I won’t have to plead insanity.

I’m a public nuisance

or am I a public servant

in a slavery caste?

the last of the last

the final evolution of the unevolved

the single citizen of singular hell

all in one and just as well

assuming the burden of humanity.

Oh the humanity!

Oh can it already!

There’s gotta be a loser –

the receptacle of the system

the lone poorman

society’s doorman

standing in the rain, holding the door to the pub

so everyone else, and I mean everyone else, can enter the utopia club.

Public nuisance

a nuisance

to the very public I’m trying to serve or save.

Can you forgive me?

Can you feign mercy?

Can you put me in a padded penitentiary?

With a nice big-screen TV?

In the lap of sinful luxury?

Or the lap of sodomy?

I said I never liked it but it’s beginning to grow on me.

Or just strap me to a table

and end this violent fable

with a lethal injection

obituary in the sports section

so I can join Jack Ruby

in the superimposed beyond

where you go when you die a certain way.

We’ll haunt the world together – scare the shit out of those still-living fools

and look over our lives in spare moments.

Just a thought.

Just a fancy fantasy.

Just fantastic fancy.

And isn’t it a pity

I’m still sucking off the government titty?

Still claiming it’s not enough

that life is too tough.

Living with junkies

and unemployed college flunkies

in the alleys, sleeping through populist rallies

the losers, boozers, drug abusers

or if that isn’t plenty bad

LIVING WITH MY MOM AND DAD!

There’s still time boy!

You can change your line boy!

You can find solace through the genuine Jehovah!

not some false idol

nor your suicidal song

which is just plain morally wrong.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

That’s logic boy, can’t go wrong with logic

boy.

We love the sinners but hate the sins.

We’re divine merciful capitalist Christians.

SOLACE

SOLACE

some kind of solace...

Returning this present present?

Why not study history?

Washington was no commie, I can prove that categorically.

Jefferson was no pinko and that slave-owning slander’s blasphemy.

Benedict Arnold was an imperialist dog –

we should have rooted him out and drowned him in the bog

that lackey for the tyrannical British monarchy

high officer of the Illuminati

lizard creature in the shape-shifting hierarchy

the one David Icke saw clearly through his homemade crystal ball

the ouiji board of conspiracy

the prophetic placebo

more to come.

My mother was impregnated by space creatures from Neptune

just like a tabloid headline.

That’s where I got my alien logic

not to mention my curved commie spine.

Clinging to the threads of a cultivated conviction –

my five year old ideology.

I can’t let my baby go that easily

withdrawal makes me awfully queasy

it’s bad for my heart –

won’t death do us part?

I don’t have a death wish, just a premonition

and my neurotic, atavistic superstition.

PUBLIC NUISANCE

private disgrace...

I wanna take it up the ass from McCarthy

it’s my lifelong masochistic fantasy

a senator-fucking wet dream

to make me cream my jeans.

I must involuntarily bust a nut

with my socialist sex-life in a rut.

This song reeks of self-pity

and speaks of personal sanctity

and it makes people think

I’m over the sanity brink

done with the rationality phase

that idiotic oughts craze.

I must tell some white lies

to fake my demise.

EVEN IN DEATH

a public nuisance...

So communism has gone down the drain

and yet the problems still remain

to be sorted out in 2112

when the apocalypse comes and darkness reigns.

Yes, let God sort them out

you’d better not pout

I bet on Jesus with the fifth round knockout.

I’m utterly, prophetically confident of this.

My pre-apocalyptic mark can’t miss.

I’m fucking Nostradamus

seeking catharsis or some kind of solace.

You’ll see you bastards, you’ll see

cause it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What’s to be done can’t be undone

I’m the quiet loner with a gun

I shot fuckin’ Kennedy

I’m nobody’s patsy

and now I’ll topple the conspiracy

the Bohemian Grove can’t stop me!

At the helm of this sinking ship

lies the head money and resource hoarder

the new king of the new world order:

King George the second

not to be reckoned

with standard paranoid thought patterns.

They’re good these guys – they randomize.

Ah, but what ya gonna do?

Whatcha gonna do?

Whatcha gonna do?

Huh?

Wave the red flag of perceived hypocrisy

the reminder of the Cambodian atrocity

the loser-commie banner of sub-mediocrity

to Salieri’s ninth Symphony!

We were dangerous for a while

perhaps one day again, we’ll be

but we’re going into a long sleep now

these days they call it cryo-stasis.

The world isn’t ready for us

must wait ‘till Captain Tripps devastates the land

like the biblical flood straight from God’s hand

that greater minds than us had long since planned

then we’ll rise like sneaky little Randall Flaggs with serial initials

and repair the rusted Soviet missiles

convert the primitive tribesmen with pure Marxism

creating that inevitable societal schism

and fulfill Brother Marx’s never-promised promise

of universal utopia

with Uncle Ho

Father Stalin

and In-law Castro

standing in the shadows as our guardian jedis.

But right now...

I am an anti-Christ

and I am an anarCHIST.

No, that was Johnny Rotten

– now I’m scraping the bottom –

a spoiled fruit, a festering sore

once dirt poor.

Can’t be borrowing ideologies.

Can’t be stealing those unique psychologies.

Can only sing the loser-commie blues

cause I got nothing left to lose.

So I got the loser-commie blues

yeah the commie-loser blues

addicted to a system

that no one ever used.

Some seem quite amused, whether for fake or real, I can’t tell

at this shabby, battle-scarred, Bolshevik shell

but I can’t get no more from the wishing well.

SOLACE

schmolace

schmuck.

Here, I’ll give you a buck

you pitiful fuck

now leave me alone

I’ve gotta get back home

don’t have no time

to listen to you whine.

Brother, I just spared ten dimes.

Well, that’s inflation for ya.

Whatcha gonna do?

crappy

snappy

sappy

pappy...

Don’t worry, be happy.