The Other Half - Lifted Fingers
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‘I worked so hard for the money I earn’
I didn’t lift a finger for a penny of mine
So who’s the loser? I know who I’d choose
Not the snivelling suit, begging for the bag
Big Twenty’s riddled with that kind of vermin
Slapping our backs like they know us when they’re finally coming up
That dopey gurn just spurs me on to
Burn down every single thing that ever meant something to me
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
The sterile stink of new money coke fiеnds
Clicking their fingers as if we’rе on the books
Brand activations at demonstrations
Bank sponsored seances, communing with the debt
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
Not a lot is sacred, joy mechanically copied and sucked out of spaces by corporate monoliths, and simplified and compressed into something sellable, neat, compact and relatable to a feeling we once felt, but now I’m not so sure, and when that all fades, it’s dumped into the cosmos, ready for saucer men to find and trade in the death knell of an earth, fumbled and wasted by men with dollars in their eyes and all the rest of it
But something existed, and it was cultivated in cracks and darkened corners, which maybe there used to be more of, but either way, will always be there. It’s a stop-start conversation with a stranger in a stairwell, asking how their set went, after they’ve played to 30 people in the only pub not turned into a bar within a 100 mile radius. A shared moment no one can really put their fingers on, but it seems more worth it than anything
And those oily snouts, they’re twitching for more
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
I didn’t lift a finger for a penny of mine
So who’s the loser? I know who I’d choose
Not the snivelling suit, begging for the bag
Big Twenty’s riddled with that kind of vermin
Slapping our backs like they know us when they’re finally coming up
That dopey gurn just spurs me on to
Burn down every single thing that ever meant something to me
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
The sterile stink of new money coke fiеnds
Clicking their fingers as if we’rе on the books
Brand activations at demonstrations
Bank sponsored seances, communing with the debt
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
Not a lot is sacred, joy mechanically copied and sucked out of spaces by corporate monoliths, and simplified and compressed into something sellable, neat, compact and relatable to a feeling we once felt, but now I’m not so sure, and when that all fades, it’s dumped into the cosmos, ready for saucer men to find and trade in the death knell of an earth, fumbled and wasted by men with dollars in their eyes and all the rest of it
But something existed, and it was cultivated in cracks and darkened corners, which maybe there used to be more of, but either way, will always be there. It’s a stop-start conversation with a stranger in a stairwell, asking how their set went, after they’ve played to 30 people in the only pub not turned into a bar within a 100 mile radius. A shared moment no one can really put their fingers on, but it seems more worth it than anything
And those oily snouts, they’re twitching for more
‘Cause they’ve got it and they’ll keep it too
