Trouble Every Day

 Frank Zappa:

Nurse With Wound: Subterranean Zappa Blues

Lyrics: "About to get upset From watchin' my TV I been checkin' out the news Until my eyeballs fail to see. I mean to say that every day Is just another rotten mess, And when it's gonna change, my friend, Is anybody's guess. Wednesday I watched a riot, I seen the cops out in the street. Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff And chokin' in the heat. Listened to reports About the whiskey passin' 'round. I seen the smoke and fire And the market burnin' down. Watched while everybody On his street would take a turn To stomp and smash and bash and crash And slash and bust and burn. Well, you can cool it, You can heat it, 'Cause, baby, I don't need it. So take your TV tube and eat it. & all that phony stuff on sports & all those unconfirmed reports. You know I watched that rotten box Until my head begin to hurt From checkin' out the way The newsman say they get the dirt Before the guys on channel so-and-so And further they assert That any show they'll interrupt To bring you news if it comes up. They say that if the place blows up They will be the first to tell, Because the boys they got downtown Are workin' hard and doin' swell. And if anybody gets the news Before it hits the street, They say that no one blabs it faster; Their coverage can't be beat. And if another woman driver Gets machine-gunned from her seat, They'll send some joker with a brownie And you'll see it all complete. Well, I seen the fires burnin', And the local people turnin', On the merchants and the shops Who used to sell their brooms and mops and every other household item--- Watched the mob just turn and bite 'em. And they say it served 'em right, because a few of them are white. And it's the same across the nation, Black and white discrimination. Yellin' 'You can't understand me!' & all that other jazz they hand me In the papers and TV and All that mass stupidity That seems to grow more every day, Each time they hear some nitwit say He wants to go and do you in Because the color of your skin Just don't appeal to him No matter if it's black or white Because he's out for blood tonight. You know we got to sit around at home And watch this thing begin But I bet there won't be many left To see it really end, 'Cause the fire in the street Ain't like the fire in the heart And in the eyes of all these people Don't you know that this could start On any street in any town In any state if any clown Decides that now's the time to fight For some ideal he thinks is right. And if a million more agree There ain't no Great Society As it applies to you and me Our country isn't free And the Law refuse to see That if all that you can ever be Is just a lousy janitor Unless your uncle owns the store that every five in four Just don't amount to nothin' more, watch the rats go across the floor and make up songs about being poor. Open up your hoover, son! [Blow your harmonica, son!]"