Lyrics

Flock of Two Percent.

Have you seen the happy people climbing ladders high,
just to get a smiling working place, in the Parliamentary sky.
Says the Press: Our Middle class do need a psychedelic brain,
to rest euphorically on soft and easy cushions of cocaine
and so to keep the spirits high and smiling during shows in Telewise discussions,
and there to be the most aware of any true concussions,
during promises of bread and circus shows, with some of them far out and quite insane
on board of any party's programed promised train.

Welfare state, do make us happy, we, if none, a flock of wondering cattle by the ballot box.
Friendship makes a gush like spring for chosen scullers with a nepotistic steering cox.
Not complaining, just remaining focused on the shiny promises you made last fall.
Don't betray us, do not slay us, just repay us for the days when loyalty did make its call.
Remember, that's our goal: Among the top of most of all election lists,
that's where we now, the old folk's flock of two percent, would like in stock to stay,
when representatives of younger breed go rapping blunt and sniffing hard
on psychedelic new Election Daylights Guard.

Have you seen the old time people, standing on a cliff,
Built the country after wartime's end;
now political issues gone both lame and stiff.
Few were chosen into Go sen, through the Parliament's election lists.
Says the admin: "Show us patience, not complacence, we're the leaders of the Mist,
ours to bray, decide and make, money, fortune, piece of cake.
It's a long hereditary dumping, from old Roman times to jumping
into thin air, don't despair, we're guiding you to sunlight fair."

Welfare state, do make us happy, we, if none, a flock of wondering cattle by the ballot box.
Friendship makes a gush like spring for chosen scullers with a nepotistic steering cox.
Not complaining, just remaining focused on the shiny promises you made last fall.
Don't betray us, do not slay us, just repay us for the days when loyalty did make its call.
Remember, that's our goal: Among the top of most of all election lists,
that's where we now, the old folk's flock of two percent, would like in stock to stay,
when representatives of younger breed go rapping blunt and sniffing hard
on psychedelic new Election Daylights Guard.