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Park Ranger
by
O.S.T.R.
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Lyrics
I'm standin' on a shrinkin' moutain Lining up by a drinkin' fountain And thinkin' how come everything that's free is restricted From trees in the parks to the deers, I'm addicted Is it not offensive, my puff? Is it? I don't know, campusing my tent on your grass I'm approached by a dark stranger He's just the guy who's aimin' to play the Park Ranger He says what he lookin' at? How much are you payin'? And did you stamp your ticket at the gate on the way in? And I'm playin' at bein' free So I'm prayin' he's not seein' me He must have a torch or a flashlight He sits on his porch at night and bats his lids And the noise from the backyard, that's his kids Yeah, that's his kids They get the best of the landscape The forest is natural, the rest is man-made (man-made) I wana see how things look before 3000 Crooks stole blade every blade of grass, all trees down the brook I've heard there's money, innit? But this is absurd, man There's gotta be a home for the fishes and birds If my wishes were heard, then everyone else doesn't have to be (?) I know then the world will be more like a factory I actually realized you can't stop progress You can get in its way by opposing the process Every man for himself, the notion of success Some people are content to focus on much less And they're happy Tryin' tell me that they're not Tryin' to tell me they'd be more happy with what you sell me through the shops, and you could buy anything As long as you have the status The money - it just comes and goes, trying to catch the papers People, for their loving stacks, a paper at its maker Fortune just a walkthrough, then ahead and back to taker Rest plus a piece of their cake, they want their best They deserve it, cause they've earned it, but there's birdsh*t on the crest So you can't avoid the dirt, no matter how many times you wash a shirt It's often heard that lots of hurt is tailed out on purpose And the office clerk in a buttoned shirt is selling out the workers I believe it, 'cause I've seen it and it's got me feeling nervuos Of course, the lower working class, a forge is still a murder Well, that's what the TV says, I swallow every word I can't be happy on my own I follow every herd I can't be happy on my own I follow every herd
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