作词 : Propa Gandhi
Bowl of cherries in 
Waskasio Creek. 
A sylvan way of life for those who seeknone beyond a parkland mall. 
This land scape oasis now feigns city hall. 
Andthey call this peace. 
That's not how it seems to me. 
Sugar-coated disease.
Buckle at the knees. 
Your members of 
Parliament lining their garments withhides of the masses (THEIR heads stuck up their asses.) 
Bald little soldiers
Flags sewn to their shoulders. 
This insight spawns despair.
Why am I not part of this? 
Pine cone wealth and cedar-fence bliss? 
All yournovel themes that keep you amused on your way to the 
Canadian,flag-waving-aryan, cunt/cock/ass/mother/father/finger/butt/blood/boogersucking/fucking/shitting/farting/picking/flicking/dickingdream!!! 
Oh yeah!Nobody cares about the state of affairs. 
You can turn blue in the face, butyou cannot erase. 
Oblivious to the obvious. 
I'm making perfect sense but 
I'mnot getting through. 
Progress overdue. 
But!!!...don't expect to find me with a note keft to be read. 
Pistol in my hand anda bullet in my head. 
Because the census indicates and this atlas has related3 billion hymns 
I haven't irritated. 
I've got alot of work to do. 3 billionpeople. 
That's 3 billion snotty 
FUCK YOU's.