Psst, Ms. Anthem! I'm talkin' to you,
You don't know what he's gonna do.
He's selling you down at Planet M,
He's ******* you and he's to blame.
Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?
Haven't I warned you of the dangers?
Why're you hearing what he's telling you?
I created you; what did he do?
You think he cares about any part of you?
Or what you'll cause the **** blessed to do?
You're his showpiece; he's the front-page story,
You're the sunshine; he basks in your glory.
I mean what I make, every word that I sing,
it's awareness not revolution that I try to bring,
How'll they hear you if it ain't through me?
How'll they know me if I don't cut me a deal?
He's just in it for the name and the fame,
his material thirst puts the causes to shame,
he could've walked around, guitar in hand,
a song on his lips, nights of head in the sand.
How would we then be known in the public domain?
All my efforts would've gone right down the drain.
So I chewed on that cigar; sipped some champagne,
stepped aboard and took a ride on the gravy train.
Now he'll talk of Dylan and other icons of the past,
well Lennon maybe a hero but never working class,
**** Jagger no one buys was a street fighting man,
and the Gallaghers scripted their masterplan,
He could've stayed true,
if he really wanted to...
Well, me and you,
we wouldn't have got our rightful dues,
if I did what he wanted me to,
and stayed pure like a mule...
I rest my case, Ms. Anthem.
