Tom: A
A D E A
Take your red bikinis and your Lamborghinis
A D E A
Take your tans and your men with the spray in their hair
A D E A
Take your tasteless beers and your ill-replenished beach
A D E A
Take your tacky houses that you built on the sea
[Verse 2]
A D E A
That'll just wash away in the next hurricane
A D E A
But it don't matter now and you'll just build 'em up again
A D E F#m
And they'll be bigger and faster and stronger than before
A D E F#m
'Til they pick up their skirts and they walk down the street
A D E A
Saying "Fuck all y'all, we're moving to the country"
[Verse 3]
A D E A
So they plop down and call themselves luxury suites
A D E A
A name that a man invented in his sleep
A D E A
Now the driveways are filled with Lamborghinis
A D E A
And the backyards are filled with red bikinis
A D E F#m
And that poor little piece of fertile country
A D E F#m
Could have been growing some for food a factory to reap
A D E F#m
To process and package for a family to eat
A D E A
Who look with envy at that house on the street
[Verse 4]
A D E A
What they don't know is that those people have got nothing that'll last
A D E A
'Cause they don't even really know their own kids
A D E A
Who'll get good grades in school and fill their days up with things
A D E A
And who don't realize that they can't even think
A D E F#m
For themselves and don't even know how to ask why
A D
'Cause they're told what to think
E A
And what they're told is a good-for-nothing, dirty, rotten scoundrel of a lie
