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We Did Start The Fire
It was us, we admit it.
Reganomics, Nancy R. and Barbara Bush sharing gin and tonics.
Corrupt discussions as they puff blunts stuffed with kush, and chronic, all while they quietly kill kids for keeping it real and speaking ebonics.
Prison sentences for playing Nintendo instead of doing homework.
We switched out our aspirin for the narcotics you kept next to the antibiotics that you probably got from Dr. Sick — because we know they work.
Oxycodone and somas dropped to us from drones, fentanyl pills made in bathtubs, yeah, homemade perks.
We reenacted Home Alone on our own, while you roamed off to work.
Congos, exploding condos, pizza combos, and cocaine compensated contras.
They blew weed and cigarette smoke in our face and expected “just say no” to be our mantra. Half the kids on my block growing up didn’t have both a mother and father, it was one or the other — and none of them were bothered.
At least that’s what we told the counselors and coppers, the dumb ones, who actually wanted to help us, instead of make a buck off us, lock us up or stop us and send us to a meeting of the Godless anonymous.
We lived our lives in constant combat, at the bottoms of bottles and moshpits.
At the concerts and early morning kegs you dropped us off to, you’re probably remiss in a lot of this.
Finally, someone or something other than ourselves to blame. But you know what, rather than point fingers at you, I’d rather sell you pain.
