Hands In Your Pockets

We're all victims of the system
Still we love to place the blame
We're running out of choices
And there's no rules to the game

I'm getting tired of feeling this way
What can a single man do? What can he say?
Every day you walk the edge of a knife
You're left with nothing at the end of your life

They've got their hands in your pocket
They'll take the clothes off your back
They'll stop you like a heart attack
We put people into power

But we fight our wars alone
They take such good care of the rest of the world
But, what about the folks?
At home, oh, yeah! Point the finger at the man you chose

He'll say he's sorry, but it's just the way it goes
He sits in judgement like a king on a throne
Till that November when he'll beg for a bone
Brother, don't ignore the facts