hey!
  what?
  dudes...

  I hear the Pagans bellyachin'
  saying how we're poor
  well listen to me, I'll set you free
  cause I have got the cure
  you're hawkin' to us, you're missing the bus
  cause we ain't got no bread
  just find a mundane with cash and no brain
  and fleece the pinks instead

  Chorus:
    fleece the pinks....

  this planet is loaded with people like Jar Jar Binks
  cattle and sheople and monkeys and missing links
  they'll give you money for something that tickles their kinks
  get em to pay for your food and your frop and your drinks

  you're wasting your time if you're gonna whine
  about all of the schwagg that you lack
  just listen to Bob, there won't be a prob
  and you'll lead a life of Slack
  the pinks got the dough, but waddaya know
  a fool and his money soon part
  you don't have to steal, just cut em a deal
  and that's when the party will start

  taxes and corporate profits are obscene
  they gouge you on your cigarettes, booze and gasoline
  television, radio, news and magazine
  the Conspiracy owns them all
  they're part of the machine
  they feed you entertainment like a dose of thorazine
  pouring in your ears until there's nothing in between
  it's time to turn the tables guys, I'll tell ya what I mean
  the bastards might be pink but their money's mighty green

  fat politicians you sucker with nudges and winks
  IRS agents and lawyers and government finks
  millionaire bitches all dressed up in diamonds and minks
  wage slavery sucks, but poverty really stinks
  so fleece the pinks....