No one likes the boss man.
Boss man gets all the blame.
Boss man planted flowers.
Boss man brought the rain.
Boss man gives the orders.
Boss man is in control.
Protecting the borders.
Come on, let’s go!
Tense moments at the palace.
The men drew their guns
pointed at a painter
who’s colors like to run?
The boss man yelled “fire!”
The bullets’ echoes grew fainter.
The boss man yelled “no!”
I was talking to the painter!
The artists hold demonstrations.
The boss man holds his own.
I mean, where would they be without him?
What then would they call home?
What, with all the chickens running around,
all the moonshine and having fun.
What, with all the planting and tending and harvesting
how would they ever get anything done?
Gathered around the boss man,
the clouds all come undone.
He steps across the gutter,
stares into the sun.
He ducks down an alley
off into the night.
Slips into you and me
and vanishes from site.