What a set up
What a real mess
I can’t make sense of it
It doesn’t make sense
Raised from your cradle
Teethed on possession
Reared you up on TV capitalism
Spewed out of school, get a nice job
Get turned on when you’re on top
Worry about profit margins
Don’t give a f— about human beings
Filed away in your cabinet are equal people
But they forget it, they make it
So that you have to survive by producing crap
Can you call that life
With the very same crap
You have to buy back
Displayed on the supermarket shelf
Over a thousand varieties to damage your health
Inside the factory are wages for slavery
And every product at the end of the line
And every s— flushed away in your private bog
Is a product of another persons slog
There may be a little in front of your name
But everybody’s s— still smells the same
Capitalism is cannibalism
