Argyle, skull and bones.
Yo ho ho, savings and loans.
Screams initiated in a windowless tomb.
15 boys beneath the rich man’s moon.
15 boys beneath the rich man’s moon.
Hooray and up she rises.
Caught in the weight of her slumbering sale.
Shiver me timbers, a poor man despises
the charted courses of your Harvard and Yales.
The charted courses of your Harvard and Yales.
It’s trickle down trickle down, 15 to a raft.
From Prescott Bush to President Taft.
From President Taft to carry on down.
Rich men laughing as the poor men drown.
Rich men laughing as the poor men drown.
Laughing down highways through oceans of sand.
All the way to the bank… Of the Rio Grande.
Last I heard, the boys and the band
were hopping islands in the Indies and hiding their hand,
were hopping islands in the Indies and hiding their hand
I got a two penny opera ringing in my head.
Got the last room at the Red Garter before the shit hit the fan.
We put the dogs in duffel bags
and we all snuck in
Commenced to work out the kinks in our master plan.
Commenced to work out the kinks in our master plan.
We know the skull and bones own coast to coast,
but if we can make it to coffee in the morning,
get to the gig, raise our glass and toast…
we’ll live anyways, like Kings in California.
We’ll live anyways, like Kings in California.