You're so politically correct it crawls down my neck

Smug as a bug in your righteousness

You talk like you're the original socialist

They all sit at you're feet like you are some maharishi

As you knock off all of the easy targets

And knockup all of the tightest teachers pets

And now you are rich man you bought yourself a band

You're talking tough and you're playing loud

You sure know how to please your crowd

They all rally around you in their sweat shop stylie-man suits

Flashing their bright red union cards

Blaring all your CDs from their oriental cars