Ode to the Superbowl, or the Marriage of Apollo and Mammon
From my incredibly talented and devilishly handsome friend, Joe:
Got a wife and kids in Jersey, Barack
Sang the workin’ man’s blues, put my accounts in the black
Sang ’bout unions and big stores evil growin’
But Wal-Mart offers cash you know where I’m goin’
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
You sing what fans want and they’ll buy your art
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
Met Goodell at my agent’s Bar Mitzvah bash
Said, “Don’t like football but I sure like cash”
He said, “Shill new songs at the Superbowl”
I shrugged and said, “Aw hell, it’s just my soul”
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
You sing what fans want and they’ll buy your art
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
Every rock star wants a golden jet
All celebs want a throne on which to sit
Don’t make no difference what our music says
When money talks we’re fuckin’ hypocrites
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
Everybody’s got a greedy heart
You sing what fans want and they’ll buy your art
Everybody’s got a greedy heart


