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Whoever wins in November |
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In Boston bay |
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To the Mexican Gulf |
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All the papers will say |
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The people have spoken |
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And shown us their will |
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From the great plains of Wyoming |
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To the Capitol Hill |
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Whoever wins in November |
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The moon it will rise |
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And the mothers will wake up |
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To the sound of the cries |
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Of the kids in their mansions |
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And the kids in their shacks |
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The farmworkers will toil |
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With the sun on their backs |
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Whoever wins in November |
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The rivers will flow |
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Into the Charles |
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And the Rio Bravo |
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The drills they will burrow |
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And the pipes will be laid |
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And the bankers will laugh |
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At all the profits they've made |
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Whoever wins in November |
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The frat boys at Yale |
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Will all toast to democracy |
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And tell many a tale |
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Some lost souls may wonder |
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How this all began |
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While in the dark halls of New Haven |
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They say there goes our man |
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Whoever wins in November |
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On either side of the aisle |
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Rich white men in suits |
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Will clap and they'll smile |
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The bombs will keep falling |
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The flags they will wave |
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And they'll cheer on their new leader |
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The latest corporate slave |
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Whoever wins in November |
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The children will die |
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In the ghettoes of Oakland and |
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Beneath the Iraqi sky |
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The nuke dumps will widen |
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And the forests will burn |
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Until the time comes |
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When we finally learn |
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That whoever wins in November |
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Neolib, neocon |
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Stands only for death |
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Whichever face he has on |
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We will build a new world |
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And set us all free |
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Once we drive the whole lot of them |
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Right out of DC |
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Wheover wins in November |
