There's a man at ten
Who couldn't make a three.
He's got blood on his hands
And blood on his sheets.

He know's what's good
For you and me.
His hands are washed
But never clean.

Good times
Never been so bad.

Of rich men's things
Poor men dream,
But greed is a prison
You never break free.

There's a hole in my sky
And shit in my sea,
The earth is bleeding,
Beneath my feet.

Good times
Never been so bad.

You fire your arrows,
You don't care where they land.
Turn my world
To dust and sand.

Where's the captain,
Where's his band
Of cut throat thugs
We want them hanged.

Truth and justice
All wrapped up in rag,
The jokes on us
We've all been had.

Good times
Never been so bad.