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There's aluminium cans an' cigarette butts |
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Lyin' in the sides of streets |
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Baseball field in the county park |
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Buried in a blanket of weeds |
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There's a Swastika sprayed from an aerosol can |
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Displayed on the overpass |
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Drivin' around, it's easy to see |
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This town's goin' down real fast |
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Somebody should do somethin' about it |
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How hard could it be? |
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Somebody should do somethin' about it |
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Maybe that someone is me |
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Followed a couple into Ferguson's Grille |
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The doors swung back in my face |
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Closed my eyes but I felt the stares |
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When I bowed my head to say grace |
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Watched the table of suits stiff the waitress a tip |
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Like they didn't have a nickel to spare |
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Walked out in the heat risin' on Main Street |
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But I felt the chill in the air |
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Somebody should do somethin' about it |
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(Somebody, somebody) |
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How hard could it be? |
|
Somebody should do somethin' about it |
|
(Somebody, somebody) |
|
Maybe that someone is me |
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I don't expect this world to be heaven |
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But it sure could be better |
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I could sit around bitchin', stand around waitin' |
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But I might be waitin' forever |
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Somebody should do somethin' about it |
|
(Somebody, somebody) |
|
How hard could it be? |
|
Somebody should do somethin' about it |
|
(Somebody, somebody) |
|
Maybe that someone is me |
