Текст: Desaparecidos. Hole In One.

A man at the bank said lets not talk percentages,
fourteen hour days, still two mortgages.
you asked the state for aid, they gave you an ad campaign.
that didn't help.

you took your family to join in the urban sprawl.
you can't see the stars as well but you're near the mall.
you can't stand no more, in line at the convenient store.
it's way too long.

you used to work your land, fed a thousand mouths.
now you eat their shit for the money now.
emptied your heart to fill your bank account.

well I should talk I'm just the same...
buy my records down at the corporate chain
I tell myself I shouldn't be ashamed...
but I am.

Adolescence made her an activist.
now she's the one who does all the lecturing.
"Those assholes got their eighteen holes,
you should have told them to dig one more:
your dream is dead."

won't eat their food or wear their clothes,
always wants to know where her money goes.
but will shell it out for filling up her nose.

so run it up I'll run my mouth
nevermind the shit that I sing about
cause I'd sell myself to buy a fucking house.

12,000 square foot, 4 car garage.
tennis courts, swimming pool and a backyard.
I don't know, it can seem like a lot.
that's why I pay someone to clean it up.
to clean it up. my big house