How can they say that?

How can those priests and thinkers say

it’s a perfect world?

Where was I when they were saying that?

Sandblasting a sewer pipe

in South Beloit, Illinois, that’s where,

someplace between showing up and going home

but definitely nowhere

good enough for me or anybody else.

I don’t need to read a book about it.

I’ll tell you what’s perfect:

parts and labor

on one day of getting older

stack up to exactly a day’s wage,

no matter what it is.

And if it ever costs more than what I got to be here,

well I ain’t paying it,

cuz it’s a perfect world

and I ain’t done nothing wrong.