How Much Do You Pay? - Oliver Hart

No one really understands the experience that jades logic

And paves an agnostic place to lay and decay in toxic waste

So most carry identity paraphernalia to familiarize with smiles neatly

Painted on a robotic face

But not this man, he played the bucket with his hands

And got paid by whatever change

People would drop in his can

Twenty-three years ago he was a lawyer by description

But I guess all of a sudden he resigned from that position

But I’ve never seen the sky quite as clear as his eyes

As his blistered fingers beat down on the plastic

And in a twisted sort of way it all makes sense

While they rush to die he provides the soundtrack so tragic

He sits on the corner of 7th and 1st

And I was thirsty for the answer

To a question anyone would nurse

One day I asked him why he gave up his career

He said, «I didn’t, I just took off the name tag» then he added

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

It don’t matter what name you gave the bucket that you play

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

It don’t matter what name you gave the bucket that you play

So I took in what was said but I didn’t accept it

Well maybe I did I mean I just wouldn’t admit it

I was too committed to the belief that all the hard work from now would

Improve my future existence somehow

So I said, you don’t accomplish nothing sitting in the street

And I’m sure you barely survive off the pennies you gather

He said, to your surprise I make enough to eat

And I accomplish just as much as you only I stop pretending my job matters

He looked me in my face and told me I was a puppet

And what I do is no more important than playing a bucket

I still hear his voice when I set my alarm before bed

I never could wash what he said out of my head, so fuck it, it goes

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

It don’t matter what name you gave the bucket that you play

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

It don’t matter what name you gave the bucket that you play

See I can dress myself up in a white coat and say I’m a doctor

Carry an arm on my belt buckle with a gold badge and say I’m a copper

Maybe I’m just a sloppy lazy crazy carbon copy part of the heartlessly

Deranged nation that gave me the generation ecstasy under water, I forgot

The survivor of the mind washed and slaughtered.

I’ve watched your offers,

caught your calls and

Called your forefathers my bosses, lost it all in the name of gaining enough

To spend, consuming the youth since those pray in doom for the hand my friends,

see

When I saw my man playing away on his drum

Something clicked in my brain and I became less numb

I’m working for bread crumbs

Pretending there’s a meaning

But my employment is just a bucket, I’m desperately beating

And one day, I’ll be old and retired

Looking at my life like what a waste of good fire

All because school never taught me how to be inspired

And the job concerned applying to myself just wouldn’t hire

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

It don’t matter what name you gave the bucket that you play

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

Make Money and die that’s the American Way

But hey, here’s my application, how much do y’all pay